


Concessions of a Dangerous Mind

by sunnythursdays



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor AU, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, its not as bad as it sounds i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25763329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnythursdays/pseuds/sunnythursdays
Summary: “You-,” he chuckled humourlessly, his eyes widening as he realized she was teasing him. “You’re riling me up on purpose, aren’t you?”“Oh yeah, you should see the look on your face.”He scoffed, and continued pacing, and she knew she’d succeeded in getting to him.“It’s okay to admit I have a point, you know.”“I’m nowhere near ready for that,” he countered, and she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic to spite her, or if he was genuinely serious.She shrugged.-Or, a typical “Eighth Child’/‘Number Eight’ fic, where you can read it as both a readerxfive or as an OCxfive. Whatever suits your fancy. No Y/N, and no character name. Just Number Eight. It’s all inclusive like that.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Original Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Reader, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Female Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Reader
Comments: 105
Kudos: 480





	1. ACT I

The blazing sun, peaking through the gap in the curtains of a cluttered bedroom blinded Number Eight until a splitting headache formed. A migraine had already began to form behind her eyes, a familiar ache that she could never quite be rid of. She did her best to squint, so she could focus on her studies while sparing heralded the paining of the ever growing headache, and eventually resorted to holding her hand up to shield her eyes. Of course this did little to help and she wished she could just close her eyes and sleep instead of listening to a stuttering recording of some historical figure drowning on and on about a topic she couldn’t be bothered to care about.

Of course, the logical solution would be to simply stand from her seat, close the blinds and enjoy the small bliss of being able to keep her eyes open comfortably. But standing from her seat was not an option for her today. 

Forming two neat rows, evenly spaced apart, her siblings sat as well, in various states of discomfort. Number One and Number Two sat in front, diligently taking notes. This surprised her. While Number One could be expected to take his studies seriously, Number Two was demonstrating a new resolve. To his credit, he couldn’t be bothered to look interested, which she found relieving in a twisted way. She was accustomed to his tired sighs of boredom, and near constant shifting in his seat which she was certain he did just to make noise.

The rest seemed far less invested, their face morphed into various degrees of disinterest. Number Three was scribbling her notes every few minutes, spending the time between tapping her manicured nails against the surface of her desk. The sound was grating, and did nothing to improve the pain behind Number Eight’s eyes. Number Four payed even less attention, jotting down a couple words here and there. He may not care at all about this particular subject (or any subject for that matter), but he understood the need to keep up appearances. Any notes are better than no notes, a philosophy he seemed to have taken to heart the last time he finished a lesson with only a blank page to show afterwards. Though, she didn’t miss the not-so-subtle swigs he took of his pocket flask, no doubt of something stronger than she could handle. In parallel, Number Six was following along quite well, and had the decency to look invested. Number Eight couldn’t tell if it was an act or genuine. She didn’t find herself caring all that much.

Number Seven beside her had elected to doodle on her papers rather than take notes. She was a special case, though. Everyone but her had schedules full of various kinds of training, of both the physical and mental kind. Since she was not included, she had plenty of time to continue her studies. Number Eight was almost envious of how easy her life seemed. Right now, she’d trade anything for a quiet, lonely life. 

And of course, there was Number Five. He sat slumped in his chair, flipping lazily through a book wider than her head. She couldn’t tell what it was since he sat too far to her left for her to get a good look, but it had to have interesting to him. His brows were furrowed, a thin crease forming between. His eyes flickered back and forth rapidly, and his lips were quirked in a tiny smile. It was rare for Number Eight to see him so invested in something, especially something he enjoyed. She took in the look on his face for a second more before turning back to the front, squinting in annoyance towards the front of the room. 

The final lecture of the day was slowly coming to an end and she tapped her foot anxiously, wishing for the millionth time that day that she had the power to speed up time. It would make her life so much easier and she could just skip over everything she didn't like. Actually, scratch that; she would rather have the power to turn himself invisible. That way she could just disappear, leave silently one day and continue to avoid other people and live her life in peace and quiet. How unfair it was that she was stuck with powers that were practically useless in this setting.

Sometime during the day it had started to snow, and it had gotten so heavy that it was beginning to look like a blizzard. She couldn't even see that far into the courtyard and she knew that her outdoor training was going to be extremely cold and wet. She swore it was the last time she trusted the weather channel and took those morons at their word.

She continued to watch as more and more snow piled up on the window sill and admired the landscape as it turned into one a white, slippery hell. When the bell to end the lesson finally rang, she quickly realized she’d spend the entire lesson brooding instead of taking notes. She swallowed thickly, now mildly panicking as she tried to scribble some relevant terms onto her page. She was able to come up with 4 key ideas, after which her mind blanked. She balked at the idea of turning in such a dismal showing, and desperately tried o come up with a reasonable explanation that would at the very least minimize her punishment.

She didn’t have to worry long. A folded sheet of paper was pressed onto her desk, and she startled when she saw Number Five give her a knowing look. She furrowed her brows to show her confusion, but he simply nodded towards the paper and went to get in line. She quickly gathered her things and got into line herself, scanning the paper and memorizing as much of it that she could to be ready or her Father’s inspection. She practically cried out in relief as she scanned line after line of neatly written notes; he’d even included key terms! She bit back a smile and told herself she’d have to make it up to him somehow. She wanted to thank him right there, but knew better than to mention it with company around. She may not have been proud of it, but there was no way in hell she was revealing that her notes were not actually her own.

The other seven quickly left one at a time after submitting their notes, and once it was her turn, she confidently stepped up and handed the crisp sheet of paper to the intimidating figure before her. It didn’t help that he was far taller, casting an imposing shadow over her as he studied her expression. She kept her eyes trained on his as she handed the paper over, and kept her eyes still while he scanned the words written. He took a moment more than normal, before his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Exemplary work, Number Eight,” he said, in a voice that carried very little praise. “I am glad that you found the study of the Liverwort Reproductive Cycle so interesting.” He continued, arching a brow.

“Yes,” she said without missing a beat. “The cycle is particularly fascinating. I think it’s very interesting how the spores grow into a gametophyte, which in turn produce the gametes that undergo fusion to form the zygote.”

“Typically what kind of organism is a Liverwort?”

“Typically they are haploid organisms, sir.”

Her Father grunted, but nodded in approval. 

“Very well. Go attend your training session. I will allow you an extra five minutes to prepare since you are that much behind.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, accepting her note back from his hand, turning and leaving at a respectful pace. Once she was down the hall and around the corner, she sprinted to her room, shutting the door loudly behind her before she was tearing off her shirt in wild abandon. It ended up somewhere on the other side of the room, soon joined by her skirt, tossed aside the same way. It felt silly to change at all. She was putting on her training uniform, as opposed to her regular uniform. There were no differences between the two; the only thing that distinguished one from the other was the multitude of stitches that lined the seams of every garment. Across and under the shoulders were the main weakness, usually tearing after one too many twists after a close call. The others were littered across her blazer and skirt, reminders of what happens when she wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t often she was actually wounded during a training session, but she wasn’t all that careful when it came to protecting her clothing.

She tied her hair back, using her extra time to make sure the few strands that framed her face were even. It wouldn’t matter in half an hour, her training would undoubtedly end with her cold and wet and miserable. She just couldn’t resist trying a little bit harder, indulging herself in the briefest moment of feeling almost pretty.

She glanced at the clock and cursed, taking a breath before rushing from her room, taking the stairs two at a time to make it to the training courtyard in time. She passed her Mother, who scolded her for running. She called back an apology, but didn’t slow down, weaving through the halls to her destination.

She managed to make it to the doors with plenty of time to spare, and rushed out into the brisk blizzard that continued to hit the city like a hammer. No sooner had she made it to freedom was she stopped in her tracks as someone off to her left suddenly lunged at her, arms wide. Her instincts quickly kicked in and she ducked out of the way just as it missed getting its arms around her and landed hard in the packed snow at her feet. 

“What the hell?!" a low groan broke through the cold air and Number Eight’s heart sank in her chest as she instantly recognized who she had just avoided. "I know you're not fond of my sneak attack hugs, but was it really necessary to get my jacket all wet to avoid it?"

“Shit, sorry Four!” She gasped, offering him a hand up.

“Oh, we’re doing numbers today,” he mused, taking her hand and getting to his feet. “Okay, Eight, that was rude!”

“Was that really necessary?” She deadpanned, brushing some snow off his jacket.

"Sure it was!" He growled but she felt no anger in his words or his eyes now. "Here I am trying to be nice and offer to escort you to your training and you throw me on the ground like a cheap porno magazine! I don't think I should give you what I brought!"

“What you brought?" She quickly enquired and now noticed something in his hands. "What is it?"

“I don’t think you deserve it...” He sighed dramatically, but offered it to her. She couldn’t keep the elated grin off her face. “I figured you’d be hungry, and training will be a bitch today so I thought you’d need a pick me up, or whatever.” He continued abashedly.

She took the energy bar from his hands and ripped open the package, taking a bite. A noise of approval sounded from the back of her throat unconsciously, much to Number Four’s amusement.

"Thank you,” she sighed, speaking despite the food in her mouth. “I really don't know where I'd be without you," she admitted and was rewarded with an even bigger smile as Number Four beamed at her, his face lighting up at the praise.

“You should probably get going,” he mused, after accepting the piece she offered to him. “You’re probably going to be late.”

“Oh, shit!” She cursed, shoving the wrapper in her blazer pocket. “I’ll make it up to you!” She shouted, taking off into the courtyard. She heard him yell something at her, but she was too far away to make it out. She wasn’t too bothered by that.

She greeted her Father in courtyard with a flushed face and heavy breaths. She had just made it, much to her surprise and relief. It was rare she was late for training; the few times before had happened due to reasonable circumstance in her mind. She couldn’t believe she let herself get distracted. 

Her Father seemed to feel the same way, as her training began with a several minute long lecture on how rude it was to keep someone waiting, going in depth on the gravity of the consequences of tardiness. She so wanted to bite back, remind him that she was there on time, and that he himself had given her an extra five minutes to be there, but wisely kept quiet, accepting the scolding with a neutral face.

“Now, Number Eight, you will pick up where you last left off. I expect you to be able to reach at least three minutes of continuous effort.” He said, ignoring how her eyes widened in surprise.

“But sir,” she started. “I could barely manage two minutes yesterday!” She protested, her panicking eyes meeting his unwavering ones.

“What have I said about excuses?” He scolded, his signature frown forming on his face. “You are no where near as advanced as your siblings! Your inability to exceed expectations puts them all at risk!”

“But-,”

“-No! You will not leave this courtyard until you reach three consecutive minutes. Understood?” He barked, leaving no room for discussion.

She nodded mutely, trudging to the marked spot in the centre of the yard, preparing herself to start. She caught the stopwatch he tossed to her and took a breath, pressed the button for the timer to start, then reached out with all her might and held on as tight as she could.

The courtyard, expectedly, froze in place. The snow cascading down began to hover, the trees shaking in the wind now still. She gasped as it hit her, and she clung to the tether she formed. It burned in her hands; she described to her siblings once as a heavy rope that was covered in barbs and subsequently lit on fire. She winced as it burned her hands. Her migraine, which had absolved itself for the most part, flared up with a wicked fury, pounding behind her eyes. She clenched her eyes shut, and could feel the tether slipping from her grasp. She held on tighter, but it was like clutching at sand, and before she knew it everything snapped back all at once.

She clicked the timer and groaned out loud, resting her hands on her knees as she bent over to catch her breath.

“How long, Number Eight?” He shouted, unfazed by the idea that he was unaware of how long she’d kept him frozen. She wasn’t sure how he was able to rationalize all of their powers, but she was grateful he could. None of her siblings were comfortable with the idea of her using her powers on them. In fact, her biggest fear would probably be being frozen herself. The idea of being immobile, completely unaware of how much time passed, being entirely defenceless while someone trained was trying to get you-

“Two minutes, seventeen seconds!” She panted out, tossing him the watch. “You said yesterday it would be an accomplishment to surpass two minutes.”

“My expectations of you yesterday are not the same as today. If you become complacent with a goal you know you can reach, you will never achieve your true potential. I will not accept complacency, Number Eight. Again!”

And so, she caught the watch, took a breath, and reached out once more.

~

It had taken over two hours for her to get anywhere near three minutes. Her best time was just 13 seconds shy of her target, which she started to believe was impossible. Her hands burned and ached, physical marks beginning to form; red, blistering irritation on the skin. It wasn’t a common occurrence. It only really happened when she was straining herself too much, and clutching at the tether began to take a literal meaning.

Her headache has ascended from a migraine at that point. When she first started, it pulsed white hot pain behind her eyes. Now, it felt like her head would simultaneously implode and explode. She wondered briefly what that would look like, which caused her to lose focus and for the tether to snap back once more.

“I can’t!” She cried, her eyes watering. “I’m too tired, I won’t be able to hold it that long!”

“Can’t, or won’t? This attitude is precisely why you’re failing!” Her Father challenged. “Again!”

And so she caught the stopwatch once more, took an even deeper breath, reaches out and pulled. She was angry, and tired. The piles of snow had melted through to her skin, her socks were sopping wet, and she couldn’t tell if she was shaking from the cold or the exhaustion. She dug her nails in, planted her feet and pulled harder, feeling it beginning to slip from her hands again.

She practically growled, bringing it into her chest and holding in there. It would have to drag her back if it wanted to be released so quickly. 

Her ears began to ring, which didn’t inspire confidence, and yet she held on. She felt her hands begin to bleed, which worried her, yet she held on. And when her watch finally, finally beeped at three minutes, she dropped to her knees as it burst away from her, setting the world into motion once more. She heard herself cry out, a shout full half full of rage and half full of relief, and she practically pelted the watch at him. She held her hands, now torn up, against her chest, freely crying as it hit all at once.

“Adequately done, Number Eight,” he called, no warmth in his tone at all. “You may go prepare for dinner. Have your Mother treat your hands if you feel so inclined.” He dismissed, slipping the watch imo his pocket and turning crisply on his heel, leaving her kneeling in the cold.

It took her a good few minutes to gather the strength to stand, and she was only able to stumble back into the house. She only fell twice, her sheer force of will being the only thing that got her back up. She was relieved and surprised to see her Mother waiting for her at the door. Perhaps her Father had sent for her? Whatever the reason, she allowed herself to be half carried into her room, groaning as she had to climb the stairs. 

“Just a little farther, dear, you’re alright!” Her Mother cheered, the perfect amount of empathy and warmth in her tone. 

Number Eight only grunted in reply.

They passed Number Two, who looked on in horror. He rushed forward to help, and together he and his Mother were able to half guide, half carry her into her room, setting her awkwardly onto the bed.

“What hurts, dear?” Mother asked, eyes scanning her trembling form.

“Hands,” she gasped out. “Chest. Head.” Everything.

“Diego, dear, would you be so kind as to grab the first aid kit?” Mother asked Number Two, who quickly agreed and rushed out.

“Let’s see these hands, hmm? Oh dear, you’ve done a number on these, haven’t you?” She mused. “Ah, nothing that can’t be fixed. You relax, little one. I’ll fix you right up!”

Getting patched up was a blur; she vaguely remembered crying as her Mother cleaned the wounds on her hands, as well as her brother quickly turning away with a flushed face when her Mother took off her blazer, vest and shirt to check for injuries there. She could recall taking several pills, but couldn’t remember what they were all for. She wasn’t entirely sure they were safe to take all at once, but the ache in her bones was enough to keep her from worrying all that much.

“Now, you get changed and get some rest. I’ll be sure to fetch you for dinner, alright dear?” Mother finished, packing the kit back up.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Number Two asked bluntly, doing a poor job of masking the worry in his voice.

“Yes, Diego, nothing a bit of food and rest won’t fix.” Mother said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and leading him out. The door shut behind the two before she could make out whatever else she was saying to him.

She managed to strip out of the rest of her waterlogged clothes, and slipped into the only comfortable clothes she had; a soft, flowing nightshirt and loose fitting shorts. She laid in bed, miserable and sore, glaring at the ceiling as if it was the source of all her problems. It didn’t deserve such treatment; after all, it was impartial to what her training entailed, and did an excellent job of keeping the outside on the outside. Without the roof, she’d probably be very cold, and her room would be full of snow, which wouldn’t make her mood any better. She mouthed a silent apology to the roof and rolled onto her side, hoping she could get a bit of rest in before she had to face her entire family in the state she was in. She made sure not to glare at any undeserving furniture after that.

It felt like only a few seconds later when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. She cracked open an eye to see her Mother beaming at her, her perfect face doing more to annoy than comfort her.

“There you are!” She sang. “It’s almost time for dinner, so I thought I’d wake you up so you can have plenty time to dress and prepare.”

“Thank you,” she groaned out, sitting up despite every muscle in her body screaming at her. “I appreciate it, Mom.”

“Ah, you’re welcome dear, just make sure you’re all nice and ready on time!” She patted her softly on the head and took her leave, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.

She got to her feet and stood in front of her mirror, her mouth turning up in disgust. She pulled her shirt off to see the damage, and her face fully scrunched when she saw what was there.

A smattering bruises across her chest, no doubt where her arms pressed as tightly as they could against it trying to keep hold. Her eyes were bloodshot, the bags underneath darker than she’d ever seen. Her hair was tangled, which she wasn’t sure she could deal with since her shoulders ached so severely, she was sure she couldn’t raise them above her head. Most notable were her hands, neatly bandaged despite the damage. She thought it’d be bulkier, but her Mother had managed to keep the wrapping firm but thin. She flexed her hands and winced; she was really hoping for soup tonight.

She turned away before she could really begin to examine her flaws, choosing to instead pick out a third uniform for the day, gingerly helping herself into it. The shirt was the hardest part, she first thought, until she had to bend over and pull up her skirt. The head rush alone was awful, but the ache that followed was the last straw. She fell back onto her bed and felt her eyes swimming once more. She was tired of the hurt, sure, but she was more tired of crying about it. Her eyes burned as she blinked the tears back, using gravity to keep them from spilling down her face. She waited until they were mostly dry, and sat up. She finished getting dressed, and even managed to run a brush through her hair until it looked somewhat presentable. She studied herself once more, and once she was satisfied, left her room to wait for the dinner bell.

She slowly went down the stairs, leaning on the handrail to take the weight off her feet. She’d almost made it to the bottom when a warm hand took her arm, helping her keep her balance. She looked up in surprise and met the eyes of a concerned Number Two. She offered him a small smile, and he did his best to return it, then helped her walk in silence, which she was grateful for. She didn’t want to deal with the awkward small talk, or reassurances that she would be okay. Instead, she just enjoyed his company, leaning into his grip for the support he was more than happy to provide.

Soon enough, a familiar twinkle of the dinner bell sounded through the wide halls, and the two of them separated, backs straightening as they walked into the dining room. She ignored the worried gazes, sharp intakes of breath and whispers from her siblings as she took her spot at the table. Her father came then, waiting only a moment before telling them to sit.

She sank into her chair, grimacing at the meal of the night. A perfectly cut serving of steak sat in the centre of her plate, surrounded by a heaping of cooked vegetables and potatoes. She cast a glance at her father at the far end of the table, who she realized was watching her right back. She shakily picked up her fork, trying her best to still the tremor in it as she stabbed it into a cooked carrot. She brought it to her mouth and chewed, dropping her gaze to her plate. She could still feel his eyes on her, and she knew she wouldn’t get away with not eating the main.

She picked up her knife in her other hand, unable to keep it from shaking. She bit down on the inside of her lip as she felt the handle of both the fork and knife dig into the palms of her hands, ignoring the bite of pain and she sawed through the tender beef. It took her far too long, but she was able to cut a bite-sized piece and quickly shoved it into her mouth, secretly relishing the taste. She chewed until it was practically paste, and swallowed heavily, pleased with herself.

Once she glanced back, and saw her Fathers eyes were no longer on her, she relaxed, taking her time with her meal. Cutting her meat was still a challenge, but she continued to slowly work through her plate. She’d finished the easy stuff first; she didn’t have to cut the potatoes or the vegetables, so she focused her attention there before the harder part.

Her siblings were unusually quiet, and she wasn’t foolish enough to think that it was due to anything but the state she was in. She glanced up and this time met Number Seven’s eyes, who mouthed a quick, ‘are you okay?’ at her. Number Eight forced a small smile and nodded at her, focusing back on her plate.

Number Six nudged her arm with his, and she turned to him with furrowed brows. 

“Got it in you to pause for a sec?” He asked, in a hushed whisper.

“God, probably not. Why?”

“Ten seconds? Pretty please?”

She sighed but nodded, reaching out with just her fingertips beneath the table. She felt the familiar rush of the tether, and she pulled, holding it still around the two of them.

Number Six practically beamed, and reached over with his own utensils, quickly cutting her steak into several smaller pieces. She let go once he leaned back, and felt a tremor run down her spine. She smiled at him, a real one this time, and got one back in return. They both returned to their meals without another word.

Despite the extra help from her brother, dinner became more and more difficult. Her hands would not stop shaking, and the pressure of her utensils had begun to reopen her wounds. Red slowly began to stain the bandaging around her palms. She frowned in dismay, and turned towards the head of the table, shakily setting her utensils down with a clatter.

“Permission to leave the table?” She asked, her voice stronger than she’d expected. Her siblings all turned to her, wearing mirroring expressions of concern on their faces. She would have glared back if she thought she could manage it.

“Do you have good reason for such a request?” He replied, not bothering to look up from his meal.

“I need to change my bandages,” she explained. “I’d hate to bleed all over this wonderful table spread.”

“So you want special treatment, then? You expect special privileges due to your own shortcomings?”

“No, I-,”

“And when confronted, once again you rely on excuses?”

“No, sir, I just-“

“She needs to be treated,” Number Five cut in, in a scary-serious voice. “She needs to tend to her injuries.”

“Did I give you permission to speak, Number Five?” Father barked. “It is bad enough Number Eight cannot handle the consequences of her failures, but now you choose to be insolent as well!”

“Father, I just-“ she tried.

“You say it’s our duty to protect each other. You can’t scold me for doing what you ask!” Five continued, anger seeping into his tone.

“You feel she is in need of protection? You? You’re hardly more capable than she is, in fact-.”

“Five, stop!” She hissed, to be completely ignored.

“My capabilities are not relevant. She needs medical treatment, you are refusing to allow her that for no reason. She met your expectations, did she not?”

“If merely meeting expectations is a success to you, boy, you will live an entirely useless life.”

“You-!”

“Enough!” She snapped, staring down Number Five who looked at her in surprise. “I will wait until our meal is finished. Please excuse me for not finishing it.”

Her Father huffed, but relented, continuing eating as if there was no outburst at all. She tried to get Five’s attention, but he was stubbornly looking anywhere but at her. She wondered if he was mad at her Father for how he treated them, or mad at her for talking him down. She worried her lip once more and sat back in her chair, pressing her palms together to try to stop them from bleeding.

To her left, Number Four passed her his unused serviette, pressing it into her hands and pushing them back together. She whispered him a thank you and felt her shoulders slump, the exhaustion returning after the excitement of the evening. She nearly cheered when her Father announced the meal to be over, and she waited until he was just out of the room to turn and rush back to her room, ignoring the physical strain it took to get there. She pulled her first aid kit back out, and unwrapped her hands, staring down at them with hate in her eyes.

She pressed a large patch of gauze against the wound that crossed her hand, from the crease between her thumb and finger to the other side of her hand. She fumbled with the wrap for a bit, before she was slowly able to start wrapping it around her hand, encasing the gauze firmly to the wound. She sloppily tucked the end underneath one of the folds, then paused as she realized she would have immense trouble with the other one.

She placed the gauze over her hand, trying her best to keep it in place, and wrap it without disturbing the not so great job she did on her first hand. Her first attempt ended quickly, the wrap falling out of place right away with little to keep it there. The second attempt involved more limbs, using her leg to try and keep the start of the wrap in place while she worked it around her hand. That ended when she realized it was starting to wrinkle and bunch up. She unwound it with a sigh and tried again.

The third attempt ended when she startled so heavily from the appearance of Number Five she dropped both ends and jumped out of her skin.

“God!” She cursed, glaring at him. “‘Scared the shit outta me.”

“Bummer,” he shrugged, before he noticed the mess of her hands. “Does it hurt?”

“No shit,” she rolled her eyes. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” She continued quickly.

“Yeah, I bet. Here,” he said, taking a seat next to her. “Gimme your hand.”

“I can do it myself, thanks,” she countered, keeping her hand to herself.

“Clearly. That’s why one is unfinished an the other looks like shit.” 

“Don’t be rude,” she seethed. “I tried my best.”

“Good effort! Now let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she relented with a sigh, offering him her hands.

He made quick work of it; first unwrapping the poorly wrapped one so he could see the extent of the damage. He glanced up with an odd expression on his face, but didn’t say anything as he placed new gauze on the hand, expertly wrapping it back up. He moved immediately to the other, wrapping it in a similar fashion. Despite his attitude, his hands were soft and gentle. His fingertips glanced across her hand, which startled her a bit, though he didn’t seem to notice. He worked quietly, a thoughtful expression now on his face as he finished.

“Thanks,” she started, but he held up his hand as he sat back and admired his work.

“You owe me two now,” he teased, now smiling. 

“Three, actually,” she realized. “I didn’t get to thank you for earlier. Or for standing up for me. I really do appreciate it.”

“Old man was being cruel for no reason. He had no reason to keep you there,” he seethed. “And I’m a week ahead anyways so it’s not like sharing a note will affect me in any way.”

“You got me there,” she laughed. “What’s it like being the smartest person in the room?”

“Tedious,” he said, after a moment of thinking about it. “Very hard to keep a conversation when the person you’re speaking to can’t keep up.”

“Have you ever considered the other person?” She questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“You find conversations tedious because the other person can’t keep up. How do you think they feel?”

“I’m not sure how that matters, but I’ll bite.”

“What I’m saying-,” she said, exasperated. “-Is that it goes both ways. One could say that it’s tedious on the side that’s not yours.”

“Why would it be tedious for them? I’m the one having to slow down so they can keep up.”

“See, that right there is why!” She admonished. “That attitude, the ‘I’m smarter and better, therefore you’re beneath me’ attitude. It doesn’t help your case!”

“It’s not an attitude, it’s fact!”

“There you go again!”

Five groaned in annoyance, standing up to pace. He held his arms behind his back as he crossed back and forth across the room.

“I’m just saying, that if you tried going into conversations with the idea that just because they’re not as smart as you, doesn’t make them lesser than you, you’ll probably have a better time getting them to participate. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He questioned, shaking his head. “You’re proving my point exactly.”

“Oh, right?” She frowned at that. “You don’t think my point has merit?”

“I’m smarter than you.”

“Yes.”

“So...?”

“Just because you’re smarter, does not mean that you’re always right. It doesn’t mean that you’re better objectively.”

“And what makes me not better, exactly?” He snapped, turning to face her. He was unnerved by her unbothered smile.

“Well, depends on the context. In terms of academics, sure, you’re better. But in the grand scheme of things, you’re beat in a hell of a lot of categories.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’m way better at freezing time than you are.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? You said your intelligence, that one trait, makes you better than everyone else. Why is intelligence the only factor to consider.”

“You-,” he chuckled humourlessly, his eyes widening as he realized he was teasing him. “You’re riling me up on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah, you should see the look on your face.”

He scoffed, and continued pacing, and she knew she’d succeeded in getting to him.

“It’s okay to admit I have a point, you know.”

“I’m no where near ready for that,” he countered, and she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic to spite her, or if he was genuinely serious. 

She shrugged.

“Think about it as hard as you want. When you’re ready to admit I’m right, I’ll be here to accept your gracious defeat.”

“Intelligence is a broad field, whereas your powers and your ability to use them are too exclusive. It’s immeasurable, but intelligence isn’t.” He said after a moment of intense consideration.

“Fair point,” she nodded. “So I need to come up with a trait as broad as intelligence that can compete.”

“Which, is impossible since-,”

“-physical strength? Emotional maturity? Empathy?” She tried. “All of those are broad, everyone is capable of these things. They can be measured and can determine how ‘good’ a person is, in comparison to others.”

“Do you mean good in terms of in comparison to others, or a scale that determines whether a person is a ‘good person?’” 

“Both, I guess. I don’t see how you can consider yourself to be the best if you’re not a good person.”

“You don’t think I’m a good person?” He paused, his face morphing into a not of hurt, but surprise.

“What makes someone good? I can’t tell you if you are or not.”

He chuckled sardonically.

“So you have to be a good person to be a better person when compared to others?” He clarified.

“Yeah, in my opinion.”

“You’re wrong, obviously.”

“Oh? Enlighten me?”

“You don’t have to be a good person to be objectively better than someone else-,”

“-Seeing yourself as objectively better than someone else makes you a not good or better person-,”

“-which is irrelevant! If you don’t include morals or values, on the most objective level, I am better in theory and practice than the rest of you.”

“Hmm...” she nodded thoughtfully. “Nah, I disagree.”

He tossed up his hands in frustration.

“I can’t make you right. If you were smarter-,”

“-I’d understand, yes, yes. Unfortunately for you, I’m not. You’re stuck with me an my slow little brain! So sorry to inconvenience you!”

“No need to be offended. I said to take out morals and values.”

“That’s what makes you not as good as me, Five!” She sang. “You can think and make decisions without morals and values. I can’t. That makes me better. And I can guarantee you one day, you’re going to realize that.”

“I have my doubts,” he said, flashing his signature sarcastic smile. 

“Agree to disagree?”

His smile dropped.

“Thanks for fixing my hands~!” She laughed as he disappeared out in a flash of blue light, not before letting out an angry huff as he turned to leave.

She smiled to herself, inspecting the masterful work on her hands. It was most impressive. She changed back into her sleep clothes once more, finished her nightly routine before popping back two pills and getting into bed. She felt the effects of the medication almost immediately, and the ache behind her eyes nearly subsided. With one last sigh of relief, she let herself relax, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

~

Their debate picked up not 3 days later, when Number Eight was cornered by Number Five during their personal study time. 

She’d been pouring through her textbooks, scribbling notes and marking the pages whenever she read something that seemed important. She would never be a scholar, that was for sure. There were times she was truly envious of Five; the way he was able to retain knowledge on a practical and theoretical way was absurd. A week ahead of classes? Such a show-off.

She grumbled a bit to herself as she mindlessly flipped through the pages of her theoretical physics textbook, when a flash of blue light provided a welcome, and lengthy distraction.

“Why did you use your abilities as your first example to counter my point?” He asked immediately, leaning down as he spoke. “What does your specific ability have to do with that at all?”

“Probably nothing?” She said, unsure herself. “I think I wasn’t quite sure what your point was when we began the discussion, and that was the most obvious counter I could think of. Irrelevant, as you said.”

“Maybe not...” he grumbled, much to her surprise. “Your abilities are something I’m, in theory, unable to achieve.”

“In theory? You think you have the ability to stop time?”

“Different discussion, different day.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll hold you that,” she warned. “Oh!” She realized with a laugh. “You think your level of intelligence is something no one else can achieve!” His silence was all the answer she needed. “Wow, and here I thought I had a chance.” She laughed.

“What do you mean?” He asked, caught of guard. 

“You’re of the position that the level you’re at is unattainable. Debating with you has no purpose at that point.” She explained, spinning around in her chair to face away from him.

“Not necessarily,” he started, his words far less confident. “Just because you won’t win, doesn’t mean it’s not worth participating.”

“Oh?” She laughed again. “You’re telling me you would partake in a challenge you know you’d lose. Do you have enough pride to handle that?”

“Pride has nothing to do with it.”

“Pride has everything to do with it!” She snapped, spinning back around. She felt oddly satisfied to have succeeded in startling him. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you would willingly enter a challenge that you know, no matter what, you will not win.”

He paused, and thought about for a few moments. She was feeling kind, and gave him the time to gather his thoughts and formulate his words.

“I think you may have a point. I can’t honestly see myself competing to lose.”

“You understand where I’m coming from then?”

“I think it very much relies on circumstance, however-,”

“Ugh!” She groaned, tossing her hands up. “Now circumstance matters!”

“Does one party have to win?”

“Elaborate.”

“If I entered the competition and I know I would lose, does that mean the other side would win?”

“You’re referring time a zero sum game?” She queried, to which he nodded. “I can see how that would be different in some regards, but you lose all the same.”

“What if losing gains me something?”

“Then that’s not losing.”

“But it could be!-“

“-No, I’m talking about losing entirely.”

“You wouldn’t be losing entirely by debating with me, though.”

“Perhaps not,” she paused. “Then there’s the debate of whether the positives outweigh the negatives.”

“Do they?”

“Well,” she thought. “As much as I enjoy your company, being considered lesser than you isn’t exactly helping your case.”

“That’s not your fault, though.” He replied, puzzled.

“No, it sure isn’t!” She laughed. “How do you feel when Dad insults your intelligence? It may not be on the same level, but the intent is still there, direct or not.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“I disagree.”

“I’m not purposely insulting you, though?”

“You have to realize you are! Honestly, Five!” She shook her head. “How can you expect someone to want to debate with you when your first and only point is that you are above them and are guaranteed to win?”

He stayed quiet, and she felt less generous when allowing him to gather his thoughts.

“Now, if this is all some weird way of telling me you want to talk more, my door is always open,” she continued. “Not that you ever use it, apparently, but the metaphor stands.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

She stopped.

“I’m honestly surprised to hear that,” she admitted. “Kindest thing you’ve said all week.”

“Well, you said you enjoyed my company. Flattery is an effective tool-,”

“Don’t ruin it.”

“Sorry.”

They both were quiet then, allowing the other to find their words.

“I will be happy to debate this with you further, as long as for now, you go into it not thinking that you are right that you’re above everyone else.”

“That’s the entire point I’m arguing, though.”

“Why not push yourself to see it from my perspective? Try to understand my view, and form your arguments to convince me rather than oppose me.”

“That could work,” he admitted. “Sounds like an interesting challenge.”

“Sounds good to me-,” 

“-You need an incentive though.”

“Pardon?”

“Your point was that it was pointless to debate when you know you’re going to lose. Do you still feel that way?”

“I do.”

“Then you need incentive. You also clarified that losing meant nothing gained entirely. If you have incentive to debate with me, then you aren’t technically losing.”

“Would you look at that?” She smiled. “You learned something after all.”

“I am smart-,”

“Yes whatever, what’s the incentive then?”

“I’m not sure,” he stopped. “I’m not sure what you’d be looking to gain.” He clarified.

“Tell you what,” she chimed. “You teach me what I need to know of all of this-“ she gestured to the pile of books and papers on her desk. “And I’ll be happy to debate this with you in the meantime.”

“That’s all?” He asked, tilting his head. “I figured it’d be something...grander.”

“I did say I enjoyed your company,” she teased, politely ignoring the red flush of us neck. 

“Uh...” he started, caught of guard. “Well, fair enough,” he stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a deal then?”

He offered his hand for her to shake, and she took it without hesitation.

“It’s a deal!”

They let go of each other’s hands and lingered for a beat if awkward silence.

“Do you enjoy my company?” She finally asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“W-Well,” he hesitated, but she cut him off once more.

“Ah, it’s okay. I won’t take it personally.” She assured him, her smile dropping off just as quickly as she threw his words back at him.

“No! I do, I do! I enjoy it a lot!” He protested, eyes wide. She smiled in amusement, and he realized right away she was riling him up once more. “Why do you do that?” He asked dejectedly.

“Do what?” She asked innocently, cackling as he disappeared once more, his face red and heart thudding in his chest.

She turned back to her work again, but went about packing her things. She was confident that with Five’s help, she wouldn’t have to worry too too much about keeping up with her Fathers academic expectations. Hell, if all it takes is a debate to get her hands on his notes, she’d argue with him every day if it so pleased him. She’d never admit that the tutoring was a way to get him to spend more time with her. She’d also never admit that her heart sped up in her chest whenever he gets close. She’d be happy to continue their debate when he so pleased, because in her mind, she was deceiving him. She knew that she could convince him to see her point, and would be willing to wait however long it took for him to agree. He may think that she thinks she’s going to lose, and she’s certain that he thinks she thinks he thinks she thinks she’s going to lose. Either way, she made it her mission to convince the untouchable Number Five that for the first time in his life, he might just be wrong.

Being in close quarters with his was just an added bonus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi - forgot to mention that this is not quite meant to follow canon. Hate the idea of writing 13 year olds getting shot at and falling in love, so in my little story, they’re currently 16, and none of the unhappy canon events have happened - yet. Hope that’s alright with you, dear reader. Cheers.

Number Eight wasn't exactly sure how the conversation had devolved into what it was, but she was sure that it wasn’t coming to an end anytime soon.

"Hamlet must have had some kind of psychological condition that kept him from a rational approach when dealing with the situation he discovered once he returned home. How else could you explain his genius intellect with the pitiful way he goes about killing his uncle?” Five said, sprawled on his back on her bed. His legs hung over the sides and he kicked them back and forth.

"Well obviously you can't try to diagnose literary figures created before modern medicine, especially if said diagnosis is only one that has really only been recognized in the past century-“

"-Don’t pretend that this is like some Oedipus complex nonsense. You don’t need modern medicine to determine a character’s psychological condition.” He sat up then, meeting her gaze intensely. “For instance, a simple case of depression that is at the very least caused, or more likely worsened by troubling family circumstances can be supported by Hamlet's incredibly over-quoted soliloquy." 

He continued meeting Eight’s gaze as he quoted, "'To die; to sleep; no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.'” He paused, letting her consider her words for a moment before continuing. “Listen to the precision of the language. ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd,' Shakespeare tells us. Clearly he himself has considered this before, so much so that it blends into his characterization of Hamlet.”

“It sounds like you have thought about this before." She said without thinking, her eyes widening in surprise at the words that came out of her mouth. 

Five’s shoulders lifted, half of a shrug, and he said, "Does that surprise you?"

Her gaze touched on the darkness under his eyes, on the torn skin at the base of his thumbnail. She thought about their previous missions, the close calls and exhausting training. She considered his relationship with their father. She shook her head once. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

"Have you?" He asked, his voice measured.

It was a reflex. "Of course not."

He smiled, but it wasn’t joyful or proud. "'For who would bear the law's delay, the insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?'"

Eight was uncomfortable. She could feel her headache blooming and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "You're the one who has the whole soliloquy memorized." She countered after a moment.

He shrugged, a full shrug, almost exaggerated. "You're the one who knows exactly what I'm quoting."

"I'm not suicidal," Eight snapped, before realizing her mistake.

“Hostility does nothing to support that claim, you know.” 

“What makes you think I’ve ever considered something like that?” She asked, her voice betraying her confusion.

“A feeling.” He answered simply.

“You suddenly expect me to take a ‘a feeling’ of yours seriously? We’ve had dozens of debates, Five. You’ve never let anything but fact and logic dictate your point of view. What changed?”

“It’s a more personal subject,” he answered honestly. 

“More personal than your outlook on yourself and others?”

“You said you’re unable to think or speak without keeping your values in mind. I’m not at all bothered by our underlying topic, but I think discussing your suicidal tendencies may be difficult for you.”

“Tendencies?” She exclaimed. “I think if I say outright that I’m not suicidal, that should end the debate, no? Who knows me better than myself?”

“By that logic, you arguing against my being better than you is just as trivial.”

“Shit...” she sighed. “You have a point. But I won’t concede on the fact that I am not suicidal. Nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

“I have no intention of trying to convince you,” he cut in. “You brought it up first.”

“You won’t try? Why?”

“You’ll forgive me for thinking that convincing you that you are, in fact, suicidal would do more harm than good.”

“You really think I’m capable of doing that?”

“Anyone with working hands is capable.”

“You know what I meant!”

“You were sold by your parents to a man who is raising you to be a weapon against evil. You have no say in your life, or your future. You are pushed constantly beyond your limits, as the punishment for not reaching them outweighs the physical toll it takes to succeed. You are a number to your father! Your mother is a robot! You-,”

“Alright!” She shouted, cutting him off. “I see your point.” She shifted in her seat, suddenly warmer than what she was comfortable with. “I feel it’s only fair to mention that you are in the exact same circumstance.”

“Exactly.”

“So you’re suicidal then?” She queried.

“Ideation is not a rare affliction.” He admitted, his voice low.

“Should I be worried?” She asked bluntly.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Will you? Actually?”

“I don’t see why not,” he mused. “I’m assuming this will be kept between us?”

“Obviously. I’m almost offended you needed to clarify.”

“Apologies.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, both unsure on how to continue.

“What is your opinion on deductive reasoning?” Five tried, clearing his throat as the words stuck.

Their debate picked up once more, the previous topic all but forgotten as they argued fiercely. Five had gotten to his feet by that point, continuing his methodical pacing as he countered her points with quick words and interesting ideas. He was impressed by how she kept up, forming her own opinion just as quickly, then being able to defend it so strongly that he almost began to consider her side. Of course, her viewpoint shifted after a particularly compelling argument from him, which hardly surprised him. He could appreciate her willingness to consider beyond her view, however, and wondered what it would feel like being on her side.

"So, both agree there is such thing as a strict, absolute truth," said Eight, who had turned her chair all the way towards him, crossing her legs politely. “All I’m saying is that the idea trusting in past evidence and future dependability is not an unreasonable stance.”

"That’s fair," Five allowed, "if you are willing to sound dumb." She scowled. "Future dependability is worthless when the future is always unknown. Past evidence is is invalid because it strictly is related to the circumstances surrounding that evidence. The world changes everyday, you can’t think that yesterday’s evidence works towards tomorrows problems?”

"So deductive reasoning is the only thing that can be depended upon?"

"Yes."

"And when there aren’t enough facts to rely on it?"

"Then the truth will remain unknowable. It is better to accept that you can’t understand than to be incorrect.” He held up his hand to signal he wasn’t finished, and she allowed him to continue. “And knowing you, you’ll object that accepting defeat is a defeat in and of itself, which is wrong.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I speak from experience, but you speak from idle daydreams."

"Ad hominem!" She accused, somewhat victoriously.

Five frowned, realizing he had slipped up. And because he was a sore loser, he continued with his bitter personal remarks. "Okay,” he grumbled. "If I use only deductive reasoning, the chance that you are suicidal is only somewhat likely at best.

“But if I am to use inductive reasoning as well, the percent chance that you are suicidal is guaranteed.”

“So be it,” she said calmly, much to his dismay.

“So you agree then?” He tried to clarify.

“To a point.” She allowed, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You didn’t have to make it so personal, though.” She chided.

Five, despite himself, opened his mouth to apologize, when the the ear splitting siren that signalled the start of the mission startled them both out of their reverie.

“Go!” She hissed, waving her arm as she quickly stood from her seat. He disappeared just as quickly, and she rushed to get changed, tossing her clothes off haphazardly once more as she clambered into her mission uniform. She tied her shoes with shaking fingers; she sat up, and stared at them, willing them to be still. 

Once she was satisfied, she snatched her mask off her dresser and donned it. She spared herself a glance in the mirror, making sure she was dressed to standard and hadn’t missed anything crucial. She recalled the one time Number Four had forgotten his shorts, rushing out of his room fully dressed, save for the bare legs and exposed briefs. She could laugh about it now, but at the time she was too focused on her role in whatever hell they were being sent into.

She was out of her room and down the stairs in a flash, joining up with the rest of her siblings as they waited in formation. Her Father stood watch, inspecting each of them with a careful eye. With a crisp nod, they turned and marched briskly to the car, lead by their Mother who bore a measured look on her face.

They climbed in dutifully, listening with rapt attention as Number One explained the situation.

Heavy gunfire was reported to the police by a citizen on the other side of the city. Officers arrived and immediately took fire, leading to a surge of backup. At least three suspected shooters, armed with automatic machine guns. No one was quite sure who the target was, as police had not been able to get inside the building. Unfortunately for the suspects, police responded quick enough that they were surrounded with no way out. It was up to the Academy to get inside and subdue the shooters so police could move in and investigate.

“So an easy in and out, then?” Diego teased, causing the others to groan out loud.

“Way to jinx it, idiot!” Number Three snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It’ll be fine,” Number One said assuredly. “Stay focused, do your job, and there won’t be any issues. Got it?” He continued, looking at them all in the eye.

“I vote we send Diego in first,” Number Three offered. 

“You know, that sounds like a plan to me. You stay here, I’d hate for your hair to get messed up!”

“Bite me!” She hissed, turning to glare out the window.

“What’s the plan, then?” Eight spoke up then. “Standard procedure or...?”

“Police only reported three shooters, so there’s a good chance we won’t have much to do. If we keep the usual order of things it should be fine.”

“Three reported,” she repeated. “Not confirmed. There’s got to be at least one more that hasn’t been seen yet. Why would three men start shooting at cops, with no way out, if they weren’t protecting something?”

“Then we proceed with extra caution.” He sat up straighter and met her eyes. “Keep an eye on each other.”

She shrugged, relenting under his gaze. She never had a reason to question his judgement so far, and she couldn’t come up with better solutions. 

The rest of the car ride was silent, the atmosphere growing tenser and tenser as they got closer to the scene. They all collectively took a deep breath as their Mother turned into an alley, stopping the car and turning to face them.

“Alright children, off you go. Do take care!”

Number Eight was out first, and jolted as the sound of heavy, incessant gunfire echoed around her through the empty street. She waited for the others to join her, watching as One, Two and Five moved forward. They were the first ones to go in, as they were much more able to subdue suspects than the rest. She’d been testing her abilities recently, developing a new way to utilize her powers, but she was no where near advanced enough to compete. The others, including herself, raced forward then, ready to be the second wave of support. She kept and eye on Number Six, but said nothing as they entered the fray. Instead, she reached out to everything but her siblings, and pulled, freezing the world entirely so the group could get inside safely. It burned her hands immediately, and she could only hold it for a few moments before it snapped back into place. It was enough though, and they made it safely through the damaged doors before the bullets began to fly once more.

“All good?” Number Six asked, eyeing her shaking her hands out.

“Yep,” she replied. “You?”

“All good.”

“Let’s go then,” she said, taking a natural lead as they travelled deeper. 

They approached the stairs, and she dropped into a crouch, turning to the others with a finger over her mouth. They took the hint and dropped low too, and proceeded up the stairs with silent steps. She peaked over the ledge, trying to gather what information she could when a cloud of dust exploded in her face, bullets ricocheting off the floor inches from her face. She dropped back down in an instant, eyes wide and she took cover.

“Fuck!” She cursed. “I’m fine, I’m not hit.” She continued, reassuring her siblings before they could ask.

“Did you see how many?” Number Four asked in a hushed whisper.

“No, I think just one but I’m not sure.” She took a breath and decided.

“I’m going to run out first, freeze however many there are so you have enough time to get up the stairs and get behind them. Take them out, then we move forward. Good?”

“Good.” They all answered at once.

She didn’t hesitate, standing to her full height and thrusting her arms out, catching time as a hail of bullets were fired at her once more. She felt her siblings rush past her, and watched as they circled around, poising to attack.

“Any time!” She shouted, her voice strained with the effort it took to hold on. The others acted at once; Number Three whispered in both of the shooters ears. She held it until she could retreat back down the stairs, before she let go, wincing as the bullets flew over her head into the wall behind her. 

The gunfire immediately stopped, but just as she was about to raise up from her spot and join them, one last chorus of shots rang out, prompting her to drop down once more. 

“Clear!” Six shouted, and she stood with a sour expression. She studied the bodies of the two, and realized Three had rumoured them to shoot each other. She didn’t mind.

“Let’s clear the next rooms, ‘see if we can find the others.” Eight said, prompting the group to continue forward once more.

The rest of the way was far less difficult. They could still hear gunfire and shouting from the floors above them, but most of the rooms were either empty, or already dealt with. She swallowed thickly as they stepped over one particularly gruesome looking corpse, being careful not to slip in the wetness of his blood coating the stairs.

“No!” They heard Number One shout, and her heart dropped to her knees. They all took off into a run, racing up the stairs to try and find where the desperate call came from. It took them only a few moments, but they were shocked at the scene before them.

Number One kneeled in front of Number Two, who sat against the wall. She was relieved to see him taking heavy breaths, eyes wide with shock. She couldn’t see any visible injuries, though her worry wasn’t quite quelled. 

Five crouched behind cover on the other side of the room, hands covering his head as he desperately tried to keep himself from getting shot. At least three shooters were focusing entirely on where he hid, unloading their weapons in rapid succession, reloading just as quickly. He was completely pinned and running out of time.

“Ben!” Four shouted over the gunfire. “You’re up! Take them out!”

Number Six hesitated, flashing a worried look at her before visibly steeling himself.

“I’ll cover you!” Eight shouted, nodding at him encouragingly. “I’ll stop the bullets so you can get close, don’t worry about getting shot! Just take them out!”

She reached out, tugging hard as he stepped out of cover, ducking under the bullets stuck frozen in mid air. He moved forward, ignoring the confused shouts of the suspects as he loosened his tie, allowing The Horror to burst out of him in a rush.

She stepped back, meeting Number Two’s eyes with a silent plea. He nodded and held up his hands, catching the bullets as she released them, dropping them harmlessly to the ground. She stumbled, but righted herself, keeping an eye on Six as she waved Five to join them from his cover. He stayed low as he crossed the gap, rejoining his siblings with heavy breaths.

The remaining shooters were dispatched quickly, crying out as they were torn apart. She watched the leftmost shooters torso detach from his lower half and get flung into the wall next to him, screaming in agony for the last few moments he lived. The other two fared the same, wailing cries cut off with sudden and merciless cruelty.

“Yeah, Ben! Kick their asses!” Four shouted in encouragement.

He turned to face them, his face contorted in pain. They all jumped up to react when The Horror began to reach for them, swiping a tentacle towards Four menacingly.

“I take it back! I take it back!” Four shouted, dodging out of the way with wild eyes.

“What do we do?!” Eight shouted, catching Four’s arm as he stumbled.

“I don’t know!” One shouted back.

They all began to shout then, some encouraging him to stop, others demanding it. Three was pleading and Two seemed more focused on questioning One’s leadership than on the task at hand. It got louder and louder, and soon Six was screaming out as it tore deeper from him.

It was instinctive, a reflex she didn’t know she had. She reached out and pulled, focusing all her energy on the Horror, willing it to freeze with all her might. It took a few moments to stop completely, but Six stopped screaming, and the others fell silent soon after.

“Ben...!” She cried. “Control. It!”

“I’m trying!” He argued back.

“Control it, please!” She shouted, digging her nails in and planting her feet. She could feel it slipping, desperately trying to worm out of her grasp. Her hands burned, as usual, but there was something else. It was like a scratching, almost, itching it’s way from her fingers to her wrist. She couldn’t afford to pay it any mind, but it dug deeper, beginning to sting.

“I can’t hold it! Please!” She begged, feeling it begin to give. She fell to her knees once her hands gave out, exhaustion clouding her mind. Someone caught her, she wasn’t quite sure who. Her focus was solely on Number Six, who at the moment, seemed to be fairing just a as poorly as she was. The Horror shrieked, and Six yelled out in effort. It retracted back into him with one last cry, before disappearing completely, leaving the seven in a tense and sudden silence.

“Holy shit...” Number Two breathed out, getting shakily to his feet.

Four raced over to Six, followed immediately by the others. They helped him up, badgering him with questions, demanding to know if he was okay, where he was hurt, and most of all, what the hell had gone wrong?

“-okay...? Eight? Are you okay? Can you stand?” Five asked, bearing most of her weight as she leaned heavily against him.

“Fine...” she gasped out, clutching at his jacket for purchase. “That sucked.” She noted.

Five let out a single laugh, tightening his arm around her waist and pulling her to her feet. He kept his arm firm, the other holding her arm to keep her balanced.

“Can you stand?” He asked again, to which she nodded in response. He didn’t really believe her, but let her go, hovering close in case she was wrong.

She wasn’t, and after a moment of steadying herself, she went to check on Six, joining the worried group that crowded him. They didn’t get many answers, despite their best efforts. Police had started moving in, and they knew they had to go greet whomever was in charge and be on there merry way. The last thing they wanted was an encounter against the cops.

Leaving was a blur for all of them. They made it back down the stairs, and out the front door without any more injuries. They were immediately swarmed by police and media, demanding to know the details of their escapades. Number One stepped upon to his role, much to the appreciation of the others. They stood for a reasonable amount of time, allowing the reports to get their shots. They didn’t answer questions, as per usual; once that was over, they slipped away, making it back to their car in record time.

“I’m glad you all made it back!” Their Mother smiled. “Not too many injuries I hope?”

“Minor injuries,” Luther reported. “Ben needs to be looked at. You too, Five.” 

She turned to him and frowned, trying to see where he was injured. She almost gasped out loud when she noticed the blooming stain of blood from his left arm, darkening the fabric of his blazer.

“You’re shot?” She asked, incredulously.

“Tagged,” he said dismissively. “Won’t even need stitches.”

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Mother called from the front, starting the car and beginning their trek back home.

“You got shot and you didn’t tell me!” Eight hissed at him.

“You were a little busy collapsing!” He bit back.

“I’m fine!” She carried on. “You’re injured!”

“Tagged!” He said, raising his voice in exasperation. “Besides, the only one anyone should be worrying about is you and Ben.”

“Only Ben,” she corrected. “I’m fine, like I said.”

“He’s got a point,” Six chimed in, the first thing he’d said since the incident. His voice was hoarse, likely from all the shouting. “You look like shit.”

“I resent that,” she pouted, crossing her arms across her chest. She was suddenly self conscious. “Seriously though, how worried should we be?” She asked him, her voice gentle.

“I don’t feel that bad,” he admitted. “Weird, but not bad.”

“Good enough for me,” she smiled.

“For you maybe!” Number Two butted in. “Want to explain what the hell happened? Huh? You nearly killed us!”

Six flinched, shrinking into himself. 

“It’s not his fault!” Four argued. “He didn’t try to hurt us! It wasn’t him!”

“That doesn’t mean shit and you know it!” Two continued, ignoring his Mother’s reminder for him to watch his language. “He nearly took your head off!”

“Diego!” Luther barked.

“I’m just saying that you all need to take this more seriously! If he can’t control his power, he has no business being on mission with the rest of us!”

They all began to argue then, except for Number Five and Number Eight, who sat back and rolled their eyes. They were used to their siblings bickering, and more than accustomed to the arguments that broke out now and again. Eight would have jumped in, but her head hurt, her arm ached, and she was far too tired to deal with the anger of her siblings. Five was simply too annoyed by it, unsympathetic with either side. He just wanted to be home, to patch up his arm and sleep. He’d kill for silence at that moment, envisioning all kinds of scenarios that shut his siblings up. He settled with a sigh, leaning his head against the window.

~

“You called him Ben,” Five said, ambushing her the moment she opened the door to his room.

She’d been worrying for the better part of an hour. She’d sat through her required check up, letting her Mother assess her injuries. Nothing major, of course; Orestes palms, headache in its usual spot, a few scratches on her arms. She figured when she ducked from the bullets she’d scratched it against the splintered ground. She was too high on adrenaline to notice any of her ailments, so this didn’t bother her in the slightest.

Once she passed, she was allowed to return to her room, shower and change. Her father had cancelled training after hearing their report, granting them a small moment of mercy so they could recover. They were shaken more than usual, the situation with Six making them uneasy. They all wanted to know what went wrong, and more importantly, why. They all hoped it was a one time fluke, that Six was unfocused or something easy to explain. The alternative was too scary to think about, so they chose not to.

She laid on her bed, rolling and shifting every few moments because she couldn’t get comfortable. Worry itches at the back of her mind, and she wanted desperately to check in on everyone. She may not be the warmest of the bunch, but she cared deeply about all of them. She thought back to their previous missions, repressing the memories of when they went seriously wrong and choosing to remember the good. She remembered their first mission, all those years ago; the bank heist, the hostages, the confused cops and elated media.

She stood proudly on the steps of the bank, head held high as the cameras flashed and reporters shouted, question after question. Who were they? How were they able to stop the criminals? Where were their parents? Their Father stepped in then, introducing them as the Umbrella Academy for the first time. She swore she’d never forget the swell of pride in her chest, embracing the awe of the bystanders. At the time, the training and hardships was worth it. Fame was a fickle thing, and her immature self revelled in it. She felt her face morph into the smile she bore then, choosing to make a bittersweet memory a happy one.

She daydreamed for a while longer, until she realized her thoughts were all leading her back to one place. Five. She wondered if he was done being treated, or if he was even awake still. She trusted him when he said that his wound wasn’t serious. They’d gotten back inside and she slipped to his side, worry emanating off her strong enough he couldn’t help but notice.

“Stop that,” he sighed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You were shot,” she pouted. “How can I not worry?”

“I told you I would tell you if I was in imminent danger,” he reminded her, his signature sarcastic grin stretching across his face.

“Technically you didn’t promise me that,” she countered.

“Well, I amend my promise then!” He snapped, but there was no heat behind his words. “You do not have to worry, okay?”

She’d relented then, allowing them to continue in silence before splitting up, going to deal with their injuries on their own. But she regretted not asking him to check in with her once he was done. She knew he was getting annoyed by her, and if she was being honest, she was annoying herself too. She was being clingy, she realized after some consideration. She covered her face in her hands, mortified.

That only lasted about a minute, though, before she was back to worrying. It became too much to bear far too quickly, and before she knew it, her feet were carrying her out of her room, through the halls and in front of Five’s bedroom door. She raised her hand to knock, them hesitated. What if he as asleep? What if he wanted to be alone? What if he was more hurt than he said, and was dying without her knowing-

The door swung open, and there he stood, frowning. He took in the sight of her - she knew it was pitiful - and sighed, stepping aside to let her in. She’d barely had a moment to process before he bombarded her with her slip up.

“I did?” She asked, confused. She didn’t remember that.

“Yes, you did,” he pressed. “When reaching out to him, you called him Ben. Why?”

“I didn’t even realize I did,” she admitted. “Guess I was desperate.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“What’s your theory then?”

“Thats the problem!” He complained, sitting heavily into his bed, then gesturing to his desk chair, giving her permission to sit. “I can’t figure out why you called him that.” He finished as she took her seat.

“Well, you’re the smart one,” she teased.

“I’m being serious,” he said sternly, and she was surprised to see that he was, in fact, being serious. “You never call them by their names, only their numbers. Was it the stress? The confusion?”

“Empathy would be my first guess,” she chimed, revelling in how he stopped and payed close attention. “I guess I didn’t think calling him by his number would do well to comfort him.”

“Empathy?” He asked, uncertain.

“Something along those lines, yeah. Needed to reach him somehow, ya know?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Five said, those his voice was weak. “The others seem to identify better to their given names rather then their numbers. Ben included.”

“You call them by their names,” she noted, and he nodded in affirmation. “How come, when you yourself prefer your number?”

“Why do you call them by their numbers?” 

“I asked you first.”

“I suppose,” he offered, gathering his thoughts. He took the time to figure out his words carefully. “That it’s a way to distinguish myself from them. They’re very different from me-,”

“Lesser than?”

“Yes, but-,”

“Jeez, so rude.”

“-but, I also feel more deeply connected to being called Number Five than by my name. It just makes sense, it fits.”

“I think it makes things easier for me,” she said, picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “Thinking of us all as numbers. Makes it less personal, evens us out.” She straightened up. “Except you, of course.” Her voice lilting.

“Except me?”

“Well you’re far smarter and better and cooler-,”

“Okay,-“

“And faster and stronger and creative-er,-“

“-that’s not even a real word,-“

“And prettier and nicer and so, so, so far above us we could never even hope to reach your level-,”

“Okay! Please stop!” He groaned, lying dramatically on the bed. “I get it, ha ha.”

“You call me by my number,” she tried, hiding her smile as he froze. “Why is that?”

He stayed quiet, so she continued.

“You said you refer to yourself by your number to separate yourself from them, yes? So why do you not use my name?”

“Would you like me to?” He deflected, to no avail.

“No, don’t evade my question. Why do you call me by my number?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said after a moment. “But I call you your number to distinguish you from the others as well.”

This surprised her, and she could tell he knew from the look on his face. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

“I told you before that I don’t think that you are stupid. Why is this such a surprise to you?”

“You said that was flattery.”

“A way to lesson the sincerity you interpret.”

“I interpret? Did you intend to be sincere?”

“That’s what I said,” he grumbled. “You have, for the most part, been able to keep up. I can appreciate that.”

She laughed, and laughed, and suddenly she was hysterical, gasping for air as she cackled in delight. He was being nice! On purpose! He said nice things and meant them!

She managed to stifle her laughter into occasional giggles, spurred on by the look on his face.

“Sorry!” She tried, giggling between words. “That wasn’t funny.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“Shock is one hell of a drug!” She cried, another peal of laughter bursting from her uncontrollably. “I was worried! You got shot, and I was worried, and now you’re saying nice things to me!” She guffawed, wiping tears from her eyes.

“And now you’ve lost it, great,” he said sarcastically.

“I was worried, and Ben nearly killed us, and I helped him! You were shot and he nearly lost control and I stopped him and I’m here and you’re here and you’re fine-,”

“You need to breathe,” he interrupted, leaning down to meet her eyes. She hadn’t noticed he’d gotten up. “Breathe, in and out. Match me, cmon.”

She realized then she couldn’t really breathe, and her face was wet and she was shaking? Why was she shaking?

“Eight!” He hissed, his eyes betraying his concern despite the annoyed look on his face. She wondered if it was stuck like that. He always looked so grumpy.

He took her hand, and she flinched, trying to tug it away. He held on, bringing it to rest against his chest.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice soft. “Breathe, match my breathing. There you go.” He instructed, taking deep breaths for her to follow as she slowly calmed down.

It took several minutes of silence and breathing for her to come back to her senses. Her tears had stopped a few minutes back, her face flushed red in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was disconcerting.”

“No shit,” he muttered back, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m okay. I don’t know what that was.”

“That was a sign you need to sleep. You’re exhausted, you’re stressed, you need to relax.” She nodded mutely. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I didn’t mean to cause you worry. I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” she assured him.

“Oh I’m not apologizing,” he clarified. “Just expressing my condolences, and some regret.”

“Regret makes it an apology.”

“No, it-,” he cut himself off. “-I’ll argue with you about it later. You need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, moving to stand. She awkwardly removed her hand from his chest when she realized it was still there. She let it drop to her side. She missed the warmth.

She bid him goodnight, and got back to her room despite her shaky legs. She’d cleaned herself up as much as she could before going out, asking his opinion on whether she looked passable. It wasn’t unlikely that she would bump into someone else on her way, and wanted to make sure that she wouldn’t be caught out being upset, and be dragged into a talk about feelings. She grimaced at the thought.

She turned off the lights and climbed under the covers, curling up on her side as she stubbornly closed her eyes. She’d be exhausted tomorrow, and she knew that sleeping after everything would be near impossible. Still, she kept her eyes closed, and forced her mind to stay blank. Every now and then it would wander, and the moment she became conscious of it, she’d force whatever she was thinking back down. She started to over think it, and worried that imagining her mind blank was technically thinking, which was against the rules. How could she keep her mind blank if she couldn’t imagine it being so? The tremors started back in her hands, and suddenly she was freezing cold, despite the bundles of blankets on top of her. She curled up tighter, rubbing her hands along her arms to try and generate heat. It wasn’t really working.

The familiar flash of blue didn’t startle her, but caught her by surprise. She rolled over and spotted Five’s silhouette in the dark, and sat up to face him.

“What’s up?” She whispered, genuinely confused to see him.

“Just wanted to check you were okay, which you are, so...” he explained quickly, grateful for the dark to hide the redness of his face. He was hoping he was already asleep, resolving that once he made sure she was okay, he’d get some rest of his own.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she agreed, ignoring the crack in her voice.

“You’re a terrible actor, you know that?” He told her. “Move over, will you?” He asked gruffly, startling her as he climbed into her bed.

“What are you doing?!” She asked, scandalized.

“Comforting you, obviously?” He said, as if it was obvious.

“You don’t have to-,” she protested, only to be cut off once more. It was starting to get annoying.

“Just let me comfort you,” he hissed. “God, you’re cold. How can you possibly be freezing in here?” He said as he forced his arm around her, half encouraging, half forcing her to rest against him. 

“Five!” She complained, her whisper voice harsh. She took whatever reserve she had back immediately as she felt his warm he was. She clung to him, determined to soak up as much body heat as she could. Her hand coiled around his waist, her head resting on his chest. He seemed surprised at her sudden boldness, but allowed herself to get comfortable, before awkwardly resting a hand on her back, the other propping up his head.

“See? Comfort.” He stated simply, trying desperately to keep up his indifferent act. Truth be told, he was freaking himself out. He’d never been one for physical contact, especially in such close quarters as this. Even if the reason was a noble one, he wanted nothing more than to indulge, to let himself enjoy her company. His heart was definitely racing and he could only hope she didn’t notice with her head on his chest.

He thought he heard her murmur a thank you, and he looked down to study her face. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling, realizing that she had fallen asleep so quickly in his arms. She could say whatever she wanted about his attitude, but she’d never be able to claim he didn’t understand empathy, or comfort ever again. 

She looked so peaceful, the usual frown lines now smooth. Her eyes fluttered slightly every now and then, her nose twitching as a lock of her hair tickled it. He couldn’t help himself, gently tracing his fingertips across her face and pulling the offending strands back. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when she didn’t react, scared he’d do something wrong and wake her.

Her outburst had scared him, which bothered him to no end. He didn’t know how he didn’t see it coming. She’d been pushing herself for weeks, spending her time pouring over his notes in between training sessions and debates with him. Said training had been less brutal than that one day, but were no less exhausting. He didn’t know how he she was able to do it, and admired her for being able to handle such a heavy burden. He forgot how hard of a toll it took on her, to which he resolved that he’d never let her suffer like that again. He just had to pay more attention.

She shifted against him and he froze, waiting until she settled before relaxing. He was tired, too, and his arm ached. He wanted to sleep so badly, but was wary of getting complacent. He was fairly sure his father would not approve of him spending the night outside of his room, letting alone in someone else’s. He blushed at that thought, but pushed it aside, determined to keep his eyes open and to stay as long as possible before silently retuning to his own room. But, his body betrayed him, and before he knew it, he too was asleep, truly content for the first time in a very long while.

He dreamed that night, which was unusual for him. He saw red skies and toppled buildings, choking on ash as the world burned around him. He called out for his family, happening across the ruins of his home, stone and brick shattered to pieces, anything else already reduced to ash. He found their bodies, mangled and twisted in the rubble. Then, a voice behind him called his name, and he turned.

There she stood, radiant against her surroundings. She was unmarred, not a speck of dust on her dress. She wore a glittering purple gown, sparkling like millions of stars against the dying light of the sky. She said something she couldn’t hear, but offered him her hand. He hesitated, glancing back towards the remains of his family, before he took it.

Suddenly, he was back in his home, standing fifth in line at attention. His Father stood before him, only to be joined by his Mother a moment later. Pogo shuffled forward then, offering his Father a bundle of fabric. He accepted it, and began to unwrap it, revealing a shiny silver gun, only to point it directly at Luther’s head. He jolted back, ready to interfere, but stopped when he realized no one else was moving. 

“Number Five!” His Father barked, glaring at him with disdain. “Did I saw you could leave formation?”

“N-no sir...” he stammered, straightening back up.

His Father nodded in approval, before pressing the trigger and shooting his brother through the head.

He cried out in grief, stepping forward once more to try and save him, only to find the end of the gun pointed at him. He stiffened, stepping back into place once more. Another nod, another shot, and Diego fell to the floor next.

“You could have saved them, Number Five.” Father spoke as he pulled the trigger again. Allison fell dead and he shook his head in disbelief.

“No, you’re wrong. I couldn’t have, you wouldn’t let me!”

“Do you think I’m so foolish as to think I can stop you?” Father chastised. “I know you better than yourself, boy. You’ve forgotten a very important lesson.”

Bang. Thud.

He was next, and he felt himself start to shake when his Father moved to stand before him.

“I don’t understand!” He cried. “What did I forget!”

“Excuses will not be tolerated! Now remember!” Father shouted, shooting Ben without sparing him a glance. He jumped, ducking away and grimacing as he saw his brother lying dead.

“You’re running out of time!” Pogo called out, distracting him from watching as Vanya, sweet, innocent Vanya fell at his Fathers feet.

“Just tell me! Please!” He begged, rushing forward to grab his Fathers arm, desperately trying to keep him from taking his final shot.

“Five, please...” Eight whispered fearfully. “Please!”

“Dad! Don’t!” He cried, pulling his arm with enough force that the shot missed its target.

“Number Five! Insolence will not be tolerated! Stand in line, or else!”

Something changed then, and suddenly the three of them were alone in the room. His mother and Pogo were gone, as were the bodies of his siblings he’d failed to save. It was cold, freezing cold all of a sudden, his hair standing on end.

“Save them, Number Five!”

He shouted out all his anger, his fear and frustration. His lungs burned and throat ached, but he felt something give; his hands glowed blue, and suddenly he was back in line with a flash of blue. He watched as his father raised the gun to Luther’s head, and reacted, lunging before he could stop himself, desperate to save them before it was too late.

He fell to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain. He should have made contact with his Father, but he was alone again. The room was oddly large, the walls seeming unrealistically far away.

He spun in a slow circle, trying to figure out how to escape, when he spotted Eight standing at the other side of the room.

“You figured it out!” She laughed, watching as he approached. “I knew you could!”

He ran faster, the floor seeming to move underneath him. The faster he went, the further away she seemed to be. He ignored his dismay and kept running, desperate to reach her.

“Time travel, huh? That’s pretty cool. I’m almost jealous.”

“Almost?” He heard himself say.

“You better take care, though.” She warned him. “Remember your limits, will you? I’d hate to lose you.”

“You won’t,” he promised. “You won’t lose me.”

“If only you meant that...” she sighed, as he slowly managed to get closer. “I hope you do.”

“I do!” He protested, his lungs burning from the effort of running so fast and so far. “I saved you!”

“I don’t need saving, silly!” She teased, beaming as he stopped a few feet from her, offering her hand once more. He reached out, reaching for her with all he had left. He took her hand, and she winked.

“But you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can’t already tell, I much prefer dialogue to action scenes. Hopefully I did a good enough job, let me know what you thought if you feel up to it. I’d fix it but it’s 5:30am and the sun has already started to rise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a filler chapter. I hate filler chapters. It is, however, a necessary evil, so I hope that you will accept it. Bear with me, dear reader. The tide will turn soon enough.

“Again!”

Number Eight groaned a silent plea for mercy, but readied herself once more. In front of her stood her Father and Pogo, who watched her with matching impassive expressions. Between them, almost comically, was a pitching machine, loaded high with heavy weighted baseballs and pointed directly at her head.

She planted her feet, focused, and reached out, catching the ball that was shot at her in an instant. Her reflexes were superb; a product of years of training and consequences if she was anything but. The machine was on its highest setting, and even she had trouble catching it before it travelled a few meters towards her. It was a different kind of exercise than she was used to, but she enjoyed it much more than any of the standard alternatives.

Her abilities were peculiar, even to her Father’s standards. Time, for her, was a physical thing she could manipulate. Stopping time in a certain space required her to reach out and pull a tether she formed, which held everything she focused on still. There was tension, naturally, as such an ability went against the natural order. This is what caused the occasional irritation to her hands, since to her, it was as solid as a rope she clung to.

However, through intense (and often cruel) experimentation and practice, she discovered a new way to use her abilities. This is what she practiced now.

“I’m almost pushing it?” She explained to her Father almost a year ago, when he demanded she described every detail when she’d demonstrated her new ability. “When I stop only an object, and the space it takes up, and not the space around it, I’m not pulling it back into a tether, but pushing it away.” She elaborated, before thinking about it deeper.

“No, not away,” she clarified immediately. “It’s almost like an extension of me is grabbing onto it. Like the space around the object turns into my hands, almost, and stops it.”

This, though confusing to her, was an exceptionally useful tactic. It was much more difficult with several objects at once - especially several small, sharp, metal objects shot at her at thousands of feet per second - but for single things, she wasn’t all that bothered. She didn’t let her ease show, though. She knew that the moment her Father suspected that she was getting the slightest bit complacent, he’d make her catch 10 at once while upside down and blindfolded, or something equally as ridiculous. She would never deny his training methods were not effective. That didn’t mean she didn’t hate them with every fibre of her being.

She dropped the ball she caught, and snagged the next one in quick succession just as before, repeating the process dozens of times until the machine ran out of projectiles. She caught her breath while helping Pogo pick up the balls, carrying several in her arms awkwardly until she deposited them into the machine. They’d been practicing this drill for the better part of an hour now; she was starting to get hungry again, her stomach grumbling it’s discontent at a volume that made her angry. She hoped neither of them would notice, or if they did, would pay it any mind.

“Pogo, go and fetch Number Two. Number Eight, take your place once more.” Her Father commanded once the last ball was deposited.

Eight furrowed her brows in confusion but did as she was told, backing up to her mark in the centre of the courtyard. Her eyes followed Pogo as he turned and shambled inside, returning a moment later with her brother, looking as confused as she was. He was wearing all his gear, including various sheathes, both visible and hidden, each holding one of his precious knives. He followed Pogo and took his place beside Father.

What’s going on? He asked with a flash of his eyes.

No idea? She answered back.

“Number Two, on my command, you are to use your abilities to strike Number Eight. She will do her best to stop you. Understood?”

“Wait, what do you mean strike? You want me to hit her?” Number Two objected immediately.

“No, boy,” he hissed, already annoyed. “I want you to use your abilities and strike her with your weapons. I assume you’re capable of such an undertaking?”

“That could kill her!” He defied bravely, eyeing the look on Eight’s face. She was sure it didn’t inspire him any confidence, despite her vain attempt to hide her fear.

“Then she’d best do well to defend herself. Begin!”

Number Two hesitated, then shakily drew a blade from his side. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, before catching her eye and nodding almost imperceptibly. He threw the knife, almost gently by his standards, and she was able to catch it after a moment of heart-stopping panic. She let it fall to the ground and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Number Two!” Father barked, making his shoulders jump. “If this is the extent of your abilities, you have no place in this academy! Strike her or else!”

That got him moving, and he almost looked apologetic when he drew his next blade, stepping into the throw as he hurled at her. She wasn’t quite ready, and was forced to duck as it sailed cleanly over her head. She side-stepped deftly off her mark as it flew back to his hand from behind her, nearly missing her side. 

He tried again, this time manipulating two at once, arcing through the air towards her menacingly. She was ready this time, and pushed hard, catching them both. She didn’t have time to be excited that she managed two projectiles at the same time, or revel in the uncomfortable look on her brothers face. Instead she was forced to drop them as a third came sailing at her head, skillfully rolling to the side to dodge.

“Again!” 

Number Two called three knives back, sheathing two as the third and most large knife hovered threateningly in the air. His eyes narrowed, and he took the blade in his hand, throwing it in a blur of motion. She caught it in the air, but couldn’t hide her wince. She could feel it’s sharpness as if it was pressed against her skin, yet held on despite herself. It hovered stubbornly in the air between the two; him, trying to return it to his grip and her doing her very best to keep it from him. She could feel his frustration mounting, when he suddenly let go, sending her stumbling back at the sudden lack of resistance. She didn’t have time to react She gasped out when a thin line burned across her upper arm. She dropped the knives she held in surprise, clutching at the wound with wide eyes.

Number Two looked just as shaken, the previous competitiveness and threat from their Father having worn off into a heavy guilt. He stepped forward, ready to whisk her to the infirmary in an instant, when their Fathers sharp shout froze him (figuratively) in place once more.

“Again! Do not hold back, Number Two. A minor flesh wound will do nothing to inspire Number Eight, will it?”

“You said to strike her and I did,” he argued weakly. 

“You will continue until I say otherwise. Any more insurrection from you and-,”

“Perhaps it would do the children well to take a break?” Pogo interjected, catching the three of them by surprise. He rarely spoke up during training sessions; it seemed that he too was unnerved by the method their Father was taking today.

“No, no that won’t do. Begin again, Number Two, and do not stop until I tell you.”

He barely had time to look apologetic as his barrage started once more. All she could do was dodge and catch, praying he wouldn’t let anything hit somewhere fatal.

She misjudged his restraint, she realized, as she found herself dodging several projectiles aimed for her head, and catching several aimed for her chest. The tiniest part of her wanted to let one hit her, just to make everyone present feel unbearably guilty. The rational side of her quickly realized that her Father would be more upset over her failure than her loss. It didn’t bring her any comfort. Though her anger at her brother made the idea of his guilt feel that much sweeter. 

She’d managed to catch four blades at once, gritting her teeth as she battled Number Two for control of them. During all this, she continued to dodge his fifth and final blade, the only one she couldn’t seem to catch. She was sweating, despite the fading winter chill in the air, her shirt clung to her back and feet slipped in the leather of her shoes. 

She almost growled out loud as she finally caught the fifth one, holding them as tight as she could, unable to lax her focus. Number Two, to his credit, struggled valiantly, and was clearly a worthy opponent. She considered throwing them back with her own two hands, to give him a taste of his own medicine, but couldn’t find it within her to actually want to hurt him. She knew he would never do this if he wasn’t being forced to. Besides, the look of discomfort he wore on his stupid face - caused by not having control over his chosen weapons - was enough, even if that small part of her wished it wasn’t. She was still pissed at him, no doubt about that. But she knew she’d forgive him quickly enough.

Number Two eyed Father expectantly, waiting for his call for them to stop. It never came. He simply arched an eyebrow, and said nothing, gesturing for him to continue with a knowing look in his eye. Eight realized her mistake a moment too late, the sixth blade from their first spar, sitting forgotten after being bast aside on the ground, rose up to strike once more, aiming for the centre of her chest.

There was nothing she could do. She was already using all she had to keep the first five in place. She couldn’t catch it without letting go of the others, which would cause her an even bigger problem. Her mind raced as she eyed the wicked blade, glinting in the cheery afternoon sun. Desperation kicked in, and she reacted out with being conscious of it. She felt something give, deep in the back of her mind, and then pushed harder than she ever had before.

In an instant, the resistance on the blades she held disappeared, leaving her able to easily catch the sixth, joining the others in its floating prison. She opened her eyes, which she had squeezed shut in anticipation of her imminent death, and gasped out when she saw the scene before her. 

Her powers allowed her to freeze time within a given space, including everything within. Through this kind of training, however, she was able to freeze only the space an object took up, leaving the space around it unaffected. 

However, she had never, ever, even considered, let alone succeeded at freezing a living being. And there her brother was, frozen in time, eyes wide in a still panic, unseeing.

She stared, a mix of horror and surprise swirling in her abdomen. It was frightening to see, sure, yet she couldn’t help but feel justified. He was very close to killing her, and she wasn’t confident he was going to stop the blade from striking true. In her anger, she revelled in her newfound power, biting back a smirk of satisfaction. 

“Number Eight! Release him at once!” Her Father shouted, startling her from her reverie.

She let him go immediately, letting him and his six blades tumble to the ground. It seemed the force of her push had knocked him off balance before it caught him still, leaving him helpless but to fall to the ground with a thud once he was released.

Number Two looked shaken, but otherwise unharmed. He took deep, steady breaths, flicking wide eyes between her and Father. She wondered if he knew what had happened. She wondered why she didn’t care about the answer.

“Is that enough?” She heard herself say, her voice unfamiliar.

“I did not say to stop-,”

“I beat him,” she snarled. “I won. We’re finished.”

Her Father, for the first time in her life, looked not as certain as he usually did. He never seemed to be anything but fully confident, and certainly never allowed himself not to look it in front of the children. But something minuscule, beyond his control, had shifted, the revelation of her ability surprising them all to an uncomfortable degree. She could see the gears turning, imagining all the ways this newfound power could be used and refined. She felt sick thinking about it.

She ignored his angry call when she turned her back, half running, half stumbling out of the courtyard, up the steps and into the house. She made a beeline for her room. She ignored the chatter in the library as she walked past, and how it quieted when she went by. She ignored the friendly call of Number Six, asking her what was wrong as she shoved last him in the hallway. She ignored the pleading shouts of Number Two, who had followed her after a few moments, trying to catch up to her to apologize.

To her luck, she made it to her room unhindered. She locked the door, stripped herself free of her blazer, vest and shirt to inspect the wound that burned across her arm.

It wasn’t as deep as she thought, though it certainly wasn’t a shallow cut. It probably needed stitches, but that would require her to leave the privacy of her room, face whomever waited for her outside her door, make it to the infirmary without getting caught in a one sided conversation (in which she’d be forced to comfort the other and assure them that she was okay, something she certainly was not) as well as potentially face her Father and get disciplined for leaving before dismissal. To her, the choice was simple.

A later problem.

Instead, she cracked open her first aid kit, tossing it from beneath the counter in her bathroom onto her bed carelessly. It bounced twice, the momentum carrying it across and off the other side. She called it many nasty names as she stalked over to where it lay, picking it up in a rough grip before placing it with exaggerated care back onto the bed. She sat down, opening it and drawing out the supplies she’d need. She hadn’t restocked it since the last time she’d used it several weeks ago, and worried she didn’t have what she needed. She’d just have to make do, and figured she could use a wad of folded tissue in place of a patch of gauze. This seemed the best course of action, and after a few moments of planning and mental preparation, succeeded at the task in a painfully slow ten minutes. 

Getting the wrap to actually wrap was a struggle she’d forgotten about, frustration digging at her harder than any pain from the wound. During the process, she remarked out loud to herself that she was glad it was clean, as least, and thanked her brother for preferring plain edge over serrated blades for his knives. She immediately took the thanks back when the wrap she was working on fell undone once more.

Once she had finished her makeshift bandaging, she went about cleaning up the mess, tossing the kit back under the sink without looking, pointedly ignoring the series of thuds that followed whatever was underneath getting knocked over. She finished changing out of her training uniform, and put on the first one she grabbed out of the closet, tossing the others in a bundle in the direction of the laundry basket.

A later problem.

She fell back on her bed with a grunt, her side twinging sharply in disapproval. She sat up, confused, worried she’d missed an injury, standing and moving over to her mirror to inspect it. She lifted her shirt, turning until she saw the offending mark with wide eyes.

Three diagonal slashes cut across the lower part of her hip and around to her back. She grimaced in disgust at the sight of them. They weren’t bleeding, though they certainly looked as open and raw as they felt. She wondered how she’d missed this. Then she worried. She didn’t remember getting hit by a knife more than once, let alone three times so close to each other. Not only that, but they were jagged and tender, unlike the clean cut across her arm. She twisted her body and bit her lip at the sting; it was otherwise bearable, she’d probably forget they were even there if they weren’t so terrifying.

Had she blanked out during training? Repressed getting slashed without even realizing? Maybe that’s why Number Two looked so guilty. Maybe what she thought was a single hit was actually multiple that she didn’t remember. Though, she doubted that adrenaline was enough to keep her from noticing something like this. She dropped the hem of her shirt and twisted experimentally once more, waiting for the wounds to open and bleed. They didn’t. She lifted her shirt cautiously once more and frowned, as they remained unchanged. They almost looked fake, so she traced her fingers along them. They stung, as they should, but she ignored it. Instead, she let the tips of her fingers feel around the wounds, tracing the edges tenderly.

She started then, and really focused on her body, trying to establish if there were any more marks she wasn’t aware of. Nothing stuck out at her, save for the just discovered slashes, cut that was for sure from Number Two, and usual ache after using her powers for as long as she did. It was something she’d keep an eye on, but not something she’d worry about yet. For all she knew, she’d had a nightmare and scratched herself in her sleep. 

Thinking of sleep, she desperately wanted to hide under the covers, sit in the dark until she got too hot but stayed under anyways, content to ignore the world and everything around her. She refrained, knowing her luck could only get her so far. She was scheduled for monitored study time in the library, and was supposed to work on her thesis. If she wasn’t so passionate about the project, she’d dread it. However, the pull of her research was too enticing, and outweighed the potential annoyance of facing other people. She put her blazer and shoes on, tied them neatly, adjusted her hair, and picked up the large bundle of notes off of her dresser before opening the door. She braced, then sighed in relief when she saw the hallway in front of it was empty.

She walked quietly through the halls. Though she was eager to get to work, she didn’t want to attract attention to herself. Word had undoubtedly gotten around to everyone in the house, as it usually does, and she could hardly wait to find out what that would mean for her. How many worried but encouraging glances would she have to endure? How many timid but strong smiles would she have to offer back to get them off her ass? She weighed the numbers in her head, but wasn’t able to make a fair bet with herself before she’d arrived at the library.

Number Seven was the only one there, much to her relief. It was Tuesday, she remembered, which meant that she and Seven had the room to themselves. Most days there’s be at least 3 of them at a time, but on Tuesday’s, she had the room to herself.

Well, not entirely to herself. She felt bad to exclude Number Seven, though her presence did little to remedy the idea. Seven was very quiet, and had a deep respect for the library’s cardinal rule. She barely spoke, and when she did it was never above a whisper. She was perfectly content sitting alone and reading whatever book she’d chosen for the day silently, exempt from the assigned work from her Father. 

That didn’t make sense to Number Eight, who felt envious of her once again. She wouldn’t really want to give up her powers, but she didn’t see why being powerless was an excuse to not participate in heavy academics. Number Seven was smart, and would be more than able to keep up with the workload Eight was given than some of the others. A small flicker of resentment tingled in Eights chest, which she pushed back down just as quickly. She reminded herself she was lucky to have the powers she had, shaken as she considered the idea of being without them.

Seven offered her a kind smile, which dropped when she met Eights eyes. Seven worried her lip, but didn’t say anything, eyes flicking nervously back to her book. Eight chose not to think about why she’d reacted like that at the sight of her. 

Instead, she took a seat at her usual table, dark mahogany shining under the sun from the window it sat before. She set the notes in front of her, in stacking them and laying them out in an order she understood. The pile of papers she didn’t need ended up on the window sill, scarce compared to the small, scattered piles that filled the table. She liked this table because it had a decent view, and also because it was next to one of the computer tables. She could go back and forth between her table and the computer, enough room for all her notes on the former while not having to travel great distances to the latter. Originally, Father had demanded they write it entirely by hand, but Number Five, clever as always, was able to convince him to allow them to do it digitally. 

“Technology is becoming more and more prevalent,” Five insisted, refusing to wilt under his Fathers doubtful gaze. “You and I both know that in 10 years, it will be a requirement to type something as extreme as a thesis on a computer.”

“Then use a typewriter,” Father wasn’t swaying.

“Which is even more irrelevant than handwriting! You’re always telling us we need to adapt, so we should do so by writing our thesis’ on a computer.”

“Very well,” Father conceded, pondering over it for several moments. “I will allow this. But my expectations of you all will be higher!”

They’d been assigned a Masters level thesis two years ago now, and at the time, she was livid at Five for his insistence on digital. He proved her and the others wrong though, when technology advanced in a surge; what was once a tedious and slow process became much more optimized. She looked forward to what technology the future would hold, especially as she waited for the dial-up internet to finish dialling-up. 

When it finished, she opened up the word processor, opening her saved file and continuing where she left off. She got lost in her head, consulting between her notes on paper and writing on the computer to an almost unreasonable degree. It was like she was pacing back and forth, with pauses ranging from a few seconds to several minutes in between. Number Seven was lucky that she too could get deeply immersed in her book, as it was getting annoying.

“You look busy,” Number Four said loudly, making her jump and drop the notes she was studying.

“This is a library,” she deadpanned, turning to face him, unamused. “Shut up.”

“Oh dear, oh me oh my, I am so very sorry! How dare I disturb you, my lady? Please, spare this pitiful one!” 

“Stop,” she groaned, as he carried on over her. “I’m sorry, but you startled me.” She explained, her voice dropping back into a hushed whisper.

“Whatever, I’ll forgive you,” he relented, speaking just as loudly as he had been. “How’s it going? Done yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It’s going well though. The notes I found are doing wonders.”

“Oh? What are you studying again?”

“Fruit flies! You?”

“Drinking styles of college age students. You know, something fun. Unlike bugs,” he teased.

“Hey!” She objected. “Fruit flies are super cool! Here, look at this-,” she turned and rifled through a stack of notes on the table, pulling out a few sheets with dark diagrams on them. “Look at this!” She ordered excitedly, pointing to the photos.

“Wow!” Four exclaimed. “Black fuzzy shapes! I don’t know how you’re able to put this down!” 

“You suck,” she pouted, as she realized his enthusiasm was sarcastic. “It’s growing antenna out of it’s mouth.” She explained, pointing at the second photo. “And a claw in this one. It’s cool...” she finished lamely, as she saw Fours less than thrilled expression.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Stop being sad, it’s cool! I’m just being mean.” He relented, noticing her mood dropping. He had sought her out to check on her, helping a confused Ben console an upset Diego. He was able to piece the story together, and had to make sure that Eight was alright.

“Yeah...” she continued, playing up her sadness. She was being manipulative, sure, but he was mean first.

“If I promise to listen to you about your bugs, will you stop making me feel bad?” He offered with a withering sigh. She nodded. “Fine, tell me about your bugs.”

“Yes!” She cheered, lighting back up. “The researcher whose work I’m continuing was able to alter and remove the homeotic genes in the drosophila melanogaster specimens in order to-,”

“Woah! Big words too big!” He complained, and she shrunk a bit.

“Sorry,” she slowed down. “Basically, she was able to turn off a gene in the fly that made it develop and grow normally, and change it so things grew in weird places.”

“Like the claw in the mouth!”

“Exactly!”

“So mutant bugs, huh? I guess that’s kind of neat,” he conceded. “Not as cool as studying the intimate drinking patterns of college age specimens.”

“Are you getting drunk with college students?” She asked in disbelief.

“For science!” Four sang.

“Unbelievable...” she whispered. “How far do you have to go?”

“Eh, I’m really taking my time to make sure it’s up to standard. Wouldn’t want to rush, obviously.” He said with a wink. She gave up after that.

“Well, I’m gonna study more bugs, so...” she hinted, hoping he’d understand and leave her be.

“I’ll join you! Who’s work are you studying anyway? I can’t imagine there’s many people who want to poke at bugs for a living.”

“They’re not ‘poking at bugs’, and it’s not for a living, it’s for research!” She defended. “You won’t recognize the name, so-“

“You want to stifle my curiosity?” He gasped, offended. “Here I am, taking interest in your work and you push me away! I just want to know who it is!”

“Well, my piles are in order so don’t touch-,”

“Danielle-,”

“Give that back!” She hissed, clutching the papers she snatched from his hand tight in her grip.

The mood dropped a second time, and any playful demeanour that came from Number Four was now gone.

“Where is your author from?”

“None of your business!”

“Look, I’m not going to say anything, but if your author is who I think it is, you need to realize that this is seriously messed up.”

“I’m fine,” she seethed. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“So she’s not from Canada then?”

“Well-,”

“Are you or are you not using your birth mothers work as source material for your thesis?”

Silence. That was all he needed.

“How did you even find her anyways?”

“I researched her,” she admitted, taking a heavy seat in the chair behind her. Four sat in the seat across from her. “I searched for any news reports of children being born without the mothers being pregnant, and found one from Canada with a photo of her.” She paused. “We look identical.”

“That’s rough. You’re not doing yourself any favours here, though.”

“I know!” She snapped. “I just couldn’t help myself. She was just starting her thesis when I was born, and obviously wouldn’t have been able to finish it if I was still around. I know why she gave me up, and I figured it would help me cope with it somehow by continuing it, I guess.”

“Well, that’s unhealthy,” he said cynically.

“Yes, thank you for your stunning observation,” she grumbled back.

“Are you even sure that she’s your mother? Just because you look similar doesn’t mean she was yours. She could be mine for all you know?”

“There’s only eight of us, right?” She countered, and he nodded. “There’s a 1 in 8 chance she’s my mom, and the fact we look so much alike certainly helps my case, no?”

“That’s fair,” he conceded. “Just take it easy, will you? This-,” he gestured towards her. “-is kind of hard to watch.”

“I resent that.”

“You’re crying over bugs.”

“I’m not crying!”

“In gour soul, you are.”

“Shut the hell up!” She laughed. “Go away!”

The playful banter continued between them for a while, before Four said his goodbyes, leaving her to get back to work.

She didn’t need his judgement, but maybe he had a point. It certainly wasn’t healthy that she was debatably obsessed over her potential birth mothers work. It may have started as a way to learn more about her, sure, but as she developed her ideas, she became more and more passionate about the research. She could see the appeal now, beyond a desire for answers. Her bugs were cool, and she wouldn’t let anything keep her from them.

~

The sun was just beginning to set when she’d started working, and by the time she’d turned her computer off and gathered her notes, the sky had turned dark. She was alone now; Number Seven has left some time ago, and no one else had come by since. She’d been too busy to wonder why, but now that she was packed up, curiosity was getting the better of her.

She went to her room, taking her time to listen for any nearby voices of her siblings. The house was quiet, and she wondered if it was later than she’d realized. She opened the door and stepped into the dark of her room. She couldn’t be bothered to flick on the switch, as the moonlight was doing a fine job outlining her room in a blue-white glue. She dumped the ever growing pile of papers in its usual place on the dresser, kicked off her shoes and closed the door.

She stretched, her back cracking in relief, before she straightened. She jumped backwards when she saw the outline of someone sitting cross legged on her bed 

“What the hell-?!” She clamoured back and reached spastically for the light switch. With a flash of blue, a hand caught hers before she could flick it on, and she felt her shoulders drop in relief.

“Don’t do that!” She hissed, wrenching her hand from his. “Stop scaring me!”

“Sorry,” Five whispered, sounding like he genuinely meant it. That shot a flash of concern through her.

“What’s going on?” She asked timidly. “Not that I mind you visiting, but it’s getting late, no?”

“‘Just wanted to see you,” he mumbled, flashing back onto the bed. She held a hand over her chest as she willed her heartbeat to steady, the surprise wearing off.

“Okay...” she started. “Well, I’m here. Why didn’t you come to the library?”

“Didn’t want to see everyone else.”

She could understand that.

“Fair enough,” she moved to sit next to him, which he allowed. She crossed her legs and leaned against the bed-frame. “What’s up?”

“Heard Diego threw knives at you,” he said, trying to force humour into his voice. He didn’t do a great job.

“Yeah, got me too,” she spat.

“Badly?”

“Nothing too bad, just a scratch really.”

“Huh.”

She let the awkward silence hang between them.

“Five?”

“Yes?”

“I know you hate the question, but are you okay?”

He sighed heavily.

“Individual training today. Dad was especially unhappy; took it out on me,” he confessed lowly.

She could hear her teeth audibly click together. She knew he had training today, but had no idea it would leave him like this.

“What did he do?” She whispered, fearing the worst.

“Resistance training. Nothing unusual at first. But then he made me jump all over the place, no breaks, until I just couldn’t.” He spat. “Then he motivated me with his cane.”

She tensed, her hands clenching into fists.

“Do you need me to treat anything?” She asked, her voice stronger than she felt.

“Mom patched me up.”

“Oh, okay.”

Another pause.

“Was it bad?”

“I’m keeping the light off for a reason.”

That was enough for her. She stood abruptly, taking him by surprise. 

“I’ll kill him,” she growled. “I swear I’m going to kill that fucker.” She moves towards the door with righteous fury.

“Stop,” he said, catching her wrist. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But-,”

“But nothing,” he said with finality, letting go of her. “All I want is to sit with you and relax and forget it ever happened. Besides, you have it worse than I do.”

“Where do you get that idea?”

“He made your brother try to kill you.”

“He beat you.” He flinched slightly at that.  
“I had a picnic in comparison to your day.”

“How’s your thesis coming along?”

“Don’t change the subject, Five!” She snapped, livid once more.

“Why not? What good will talking about it do?” He argued back, his voice sharp.

“I don’t know!” She declared, sitting heavily down next to him once more. “I don’t know how to fix this, and that pisses me off to no end.” She continued with a huff.

“I don’t remember you being angry like this before. Are you sure everything is alright?”

“Stop deflecting!”

“Honestly, for once I’m actually not. I get why you’d be angry but you’ve always been level headed. What’s going on with you?”

She spluttered for a moment, then made a noise of frustration and lay back horizontally on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. She closed her eyes and breathed. The bed creaked beside her, and she cracked an eye open to see him laying back next to her. She reached her hand out and gently took his, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry. I just care a lot. And I’m mad because I blame myself for Dad being horrible to you.”

“Why do you blame yourself?”

“I left early during training,” she whispered. “Something happened and I was so mad, and I just left. That must have pissed him off and he took it out on you. I’m so-,”

“Don’t apologize,” he dismissed. “Him being a dick isn’t your fault. Don’t ever think it is.”

“I’ll try.”

They let a companionable silence fall between them this time, which she much preferred to the awkward one a few moments ago. 

“Can I ask you something uncomfortable?” Five asked after several moments.

“Sure.” She nodded, swallowing thickly. She hated uncomfortable talks even more than awkward silence.

“We’re adopted, so technically there’s no blood ties between us, right?” He tested the waters. She nodded, albeit confused, prompting him to continue. “When I think of one of the others, I think of them as a brother or a sister. And I call them by their names. You remember how I told you that I called you by your number to distinguish you from the rest?”

“Yeah?” she said, still confused. “I remember. What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that I do not think of you as my sibling,” he managed to get out, stumbling over the words.

Oh.

Her chest pulsed with hurt, and she couldn’t stop herself from pulling her hand from her grasp. Her eyes burned, yet much to her surprise they stayed dry. She blinked a few times, shifting away from him as she tried to gather her thoughts. Not his sibling? What did that even mean? Was he telling her he was sick of her? That he disliked her enough to consider her an outsider? Oh god, what if he hated her? What if he was trying to tell her that he was done with her without being an asshole while doing a terrible job of it? What if-

“Stop thinking so hard, it’s painful to watch.” He said in a quiet voice. “Will you let me finish?”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, and he groaned in dismay.

“Just, don’t forget that, okay? What I’ve said?” He asked, grateful his back was towards the light, so his front was shrouded in shadow. He’d rolled onto his side during his speech, so he was facing towards her. She laid on her back still, staring up at the ceiling.

“Okay?” She gave up trying to understand what he was saying, but resolved not to forget it. He didn’t seem to be trying to hurt her, in fact she couldn’t sense any kind of malice in his voice. She considered risking a glance at his face, but decided against it. This was mystery she didn’t care to solve. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. The awkward silence was back. They both hated it.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the shadowed ceiling. He tried to take her hand, and she let him, but not with the same enthusiasm he’d had when she’d reached for him moments earlier. He almost considered giving it back, but her hand was warm and soft and it made him forget about the aches in his back and sting of his swollen lip.

He wasn’t looking forward to breakfast tomorrow, where he’d be face to face with the whole family, bruises on display for all. He wondered why his Father was so careless, leaving a mark so visible. A warning to the others maybe? Making him an example? Either way, he didn’t suppress the flicker of anger in his chest.

She was equally as angry with her Father, for similar reasons. It was a familiar anger rather than a foreign one, that formed the day she was forced to develop her powers for the first time. She resented him, in a way, for turning them into weapons. For using children to fight his battles. She was sick of the training that left them exhausted and battered, the constant threat of punishment looming over their heads; a black cloud of fear instilled over the course of their entire lives. She wondered if they’d ever be free of it. She wondered if she’d ever be free of it.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave?” She thought out loud.

“Leave the Academy?” He queried, to which she nodded. “I don’t know. I hope so, one day.”

“Do you think Dad’ll let us?”

“I mean legally at 18 he can’t stop us.”

“Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. Travel, perhaps? ‘Rather be anywhere but here.”

“Yeah...” she agreed noncommittally.

“You?”

“I don’t know, honestly. There’s nothing I really want to do.”

“At all?”

“I mean, I have everything I need here. Food, money, family,” she listed. “I don’t know what I’d want to do if I left.”

“You realize that no one would want to stay here with you, right?”

“You don’t think Number One would stay?”

“Okay, but everyone else would leave in a heartbeat if they could. You really want to spend the rest of your days with him and Dad?”

“I guess not? As long as I’d get to see you all every so often.”

“I’m never coming back.” He said without pause. “Once I’m out, you won’t catch me dead within a mile of this place.”

“Strong words,” she mused. “I won’t take that personally.”

“Good. It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’d miss you.”

“And I you. But not enough to ever come back to this house.”

“Do you think you’d feel the same if Dad was kinder to you today?”

“Yeah, I would. I’m sick of watching everyone suffer.”

“So am I, but abandoning them won’t help them.”

“Neither will staying and suffering.” He countered quickly, to his credit.

“That’s fair. Just promise me you’ll at least say goodbye before you go.”

“I don’t like promises, you know that.” He sighed, reminded of a conversation they’d had when they were younger.

“Make an exception? I’ll even let you ask me to promise you something in exchange if that helps?”

He pondered for a moment.

“Okay. I promise that I will say goodbye before I leave forever.”

“Thank you. And for me?”

“Hmm...” he thought. “Nothing really comes to mind.”

“Gotta think of something.”

“Rain check?”

“Nope, one time offer. Think hard.”

He did. It took him several minutes, so long that Eight had begun fighting heavily eyelids. He moved to speak, and she woke back up, focused on his words.

“Promise me that you won’t let him change you. No matter how bad it gets, don’t let him win.”

“Heavy promise. You really think I’d let him change me?”

“You never know, he could get more cruel with age. And if you’re the only one around, you’re the only one he can take it out on.”

“Okay. I promise I will not let him change me, no matter how cruel he gets.” Her voice turned cold, which he noticed.

“There’s that anger again,” he noted. “Seems out of place, no?”

“Somethings changing,” she revealed timidly. Fives eyes flickered back to her. “Inside me.”

“What is?”

“I don’t know what it is, that’s the problem! I-I feel different, somehow. It’s not uncomfortable or scary, or anything that should really make me afraid, but I am. I can feel it itching beneath my skin, clawing it’s away out. I’m angrier, noticeably angrier, more than I ever have been; you yourself noticed something was wrong.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Again, I don’t know!” She snapped, impatient. He gave her a look and she took a breath, quelling the ever growing anger as it formed. “Physically, it doesn’t feel like it. Mentally though...?” She trailed off, leaving her statement open. She didn’t need to say anything else for him to understand.

“Have you spoken to Dad yet?” She barked out a laugh which made him frown. “He has a way of handling these kinds of things. I know it’s unappealing but I think you should tell him.”

“Tell him what? That something might be wrong, but I’m not sure what it is or if it’s even real? You think he’d accept something as baseless as that?” She said cynically.

“Still, he should know. If it is something to worry about, he’d find a way to fix it. He’s annoyingly good at that kind of stuff.”

“Telling him would make it real,” she said bitterly. “It’s not a problem right now, so I’ll ignore it. If it gets worse, then I’ll look into speaking to him about it.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” he snarked. “One of the worst I’ve heard all week. And I’ve been in Luther’s company far too long.”

“Whatever,” she seethed. “It’s my choice anyways. It’s not like it’s hurting me, or anyone else.”

“Okay,” he backed off. “Your call. Just know I think it’s a bad one.”

“Much appreciated,” she sassed.

“Should I change the subject or subtly push this more?” He asked openly, catching her off guard.

“Uh, change the subject, I guess?”

“I noticed you reading some of Catullus’ works the other day. I enjoyed them, did you?”

“Not really, if I’m being honest.”

“No? How come?”

“None of his poems really stood out to me. They’re excellent, of course, just didn’t suit my tastes.”

“I’m surprised by that. There were a number of them that I quite enjoyed. Certainly not my favourite poet, but a good one nonetheless.”

“I didn’t think you’d be into poetry,” she told him, an appreciative look on her face.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m ‘into’ it,” he clarified. “I just happen to have a few pieces I enjoy, is all.”

“Which ones? Anything I’d recognize?”

“Have you heard of Robert Frost’s ‘The Road Not Taken?’”

“I recognize the title. You’ve memorized it, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Would you recite it to me?”

He nodded, cleaning his throat and taking a breath:

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;  
Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,  
And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back.  
I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference.”

“Beautiful. Not something I would have expected from you, though.”

“What did you expect, then?”

“Something edgier.”

“Edgier?” He asked, bewildered.

“Something like ‘Ozymandius’, along those lines.”

“Percy Bysshe Shelley?”

“That’s the one.”

“Have you learned that one.”

“Yes, actually:

“I met a traveler from an antique land  
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,  
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,  
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,  
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,  
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:  
And on the pedestal these words appear:  
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:  
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’  
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare  
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

“I wouldn’t call that an edgy poem,” Five said once she finished, quietly impressed at her ability to recite it how she did. Her inflection and pacing matched how he himself would interpret it. 

“Not edgy, you’re right about that. The irony seems in character for you, though.”

“The poem itself isn’t ironic,” he countered. “The story is one of irony, though.”

“A sad irony, no?”

“How do you mean?”

“The point of the poem is to consider that if the forces of nature, history and time can take down something as vast and powerful as the Egyptian civilization, who can really be spared?”

“The poem is allegorical though.” He said with a shake of his head. “It references the fall of Egypt, yes, but it is meant to represent the fall of the mighty and powerful, rather than a specific society.”

“My mistake,” she agreed.

“An easy one to make.” He waved his hand to dismiss it. “Any others you enjoy?”

“Have you heard of Mary Elizabeth Frye?”

“Vaguely. She wrote something fairly popular, if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah, that’s the one I like!” She said excitedly. “I don’t think it has to be obscure to be meaningful, do you? I’d argue that the cultural impact and its popularity make it more meaningful, but I’d rather not get into something like that with you.” She rambled.

“Could you recite it for me?” He interrupted, ignoring the pulse in his chest when her voice lightened with her enthusiasm. She nodded while smiling widely, taking a breath to begin:

“Do not stand at my grave and weep  
I am not there, I do not sleep.  
I am the thousand winds that blow,  
I am the diamond glints on snow,  
I am the sun on ripened grain,  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in  
the mornings hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circling flight.  
I am the soft starshine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry,  
I am not there, I did not die.”

She finished the piece softly, studying the thoughtful look on Five’s face.

“I can’t tell what you think of it, but I like it a lot.” She said dumbly, suddenly self conscious. “It’s not necessarily high brow but-,”

“I enjoyed it.” He reassured her. “Certainly one I’ll have to learn myself, since you praise it so highly. What is your interpretation of it?”

“I don’t think there’s much to interpret, actually. She refers to the end of her life as the start of a new one, comforting those she leaves behind.”

“You think the poem brings comfort?”

“You don’t?”

“It’s a sad poem, don’t you think?”

“Not at all!” She exclaimed. “The first lines may be authoritative, yes, but then it softens, and she’s listing beautiful things. In death, she becomes one with nature, and finds peace in it. She’ll never leave those who mourn her, since they can find her in the simple beauty of the world.”

“Fair point.”

She startled. “Really? I didn’t know my opinion was so impactful,” she teased. “If I was neutral about it, would you feel differently?”

“Not sure,” he said after thinking. “Your enthusiasm about your point made me agree with it more. I think I’d take longer to agree if you were impartial, but I’d get there eventually.”

“I’m glad!” She smiled, which he matched, genuinely this time. He ignored the tug on his sore lip. “Is there another one you’re partial to? I shared two, it seems only fair you need to as well.” He ran a finger along his chin as he considered which one he’d pick.

“Maya Angelou’s ‘Still I Rise’,” he said finally.

“I know that one!”

“Well enough to recite?”

“You may write me down in history  
With your bitter, twisted lies,  
You may tread me in the very dirt  
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.” She started confidently, pausing once she finished the verse; a silent invitation she extended to him.

“Does my sassiness upset you?” He smiled, at both her invitation and the line she let him start with. “Why are you beset with gloom?  
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells  
Pumping in my living room.”

“Just like moons and like suns,  
With the certainty of tides,  
Just like hopes springing high,  
Still I’ll rise.” She continued, going back and forth with him throughout the rest of the piece.

“Did you want to see me broken?  
Bowed head and lowered eyes?  
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.  
Weakened by my soulful cries.”

“Does my haughtiness offend you?  
Don’t you take it awful hard  
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines  
Diggin’ in my own back yard.”

“You may shoot me with your words,  
You may cut me with your eyes,  
You may kill me with your hatefulness,  
But still, like air, I’ll rise.”

“Does my sexiness upset you?  
Does it come as a surprise  
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds  
At the meeting of my thighs?” They both blushed at that line, but continued despite themselves.

“Out of the huts of history’s shame  
I rise  
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain  
I rise”

“I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,  
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.  
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear  
I rise”

“Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear  
I rise  
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,  
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.”

“I rise”

“I rise”

“I rise.” She finished, her eyes stinging. “I like this one.”

“I can tell,” he mused. “If I’d known you cared this much for poetry, I’d have brought it up long ago.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed wetly, unwilling to argue. “It’s moving. I like the message.”

“So do I.”

“We can relate to it,” she offered. “Being the ‘oppressed’ and all.”

“What do you mean?” He asked her knowingly, a familiar glint in his eye. She saw it, and her joyful expression morphed into one of determination. 

She’d changed his mind about poetry once today, she be damned if she didn’t do it twice. She could worry about everything later. Right now, all she wanted to do was win. 

And when the night dragged on, and both of them were in their own rooms asleep after finishing their long winded debate, her back burned thrice more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♎︎□︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ⧫︎❒︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♋︎◆︎⧫︎♒︎□︎❒︎ ♎︎□︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ⧫︎❒︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♋︎◆︎⧫︎♒︎□︎❒︎ ♎︎□︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ⧫︎❒︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♋︎◆︎⧫︎♒︎□︎❒︎

4

Getting called to the infirmary was never a good sign.

It had been weeks since Eight last ended up there, being assessed after that one rather strenuous mission. Nothing was wrong with her, of course, but she always hated the room. Not only did it always smell of chemicals that burned her nose, but the only time she was ever in there was if she, or worse, one of the others was seriously hurt. This hatred and intrinsic fear of the infirmary is what made her heart pound in her chest as she raced downstairs towards it.

Pogo had found her in the library, hard at work when he interrupted. She didn’t have time to get a word in edge wise as he told her she was to report to the infirmary immediately. She asked him what was going on, but he simply (and rather forcefully) told her to leave her things and her there at once, per her Fathers orders.

Her mind went through dozens and dozens of horror scenarios, carrying away with a rampant imagination full of blood and death. Had a training session gone wrong? She knew Number Three had individual training today, and wondered if maybe something had backfired. Her and Number Four had been sparring earlier that day; what if she’d hurt him without realizing? Maybe something had happened to the others, a terrible accident involving stairs or slippery showers or-

She forced her mind to calm, her chest starting to pain as the worry started to get too much. Five had always told her that her overthinking would get her into trouble, and she found herself believing him. She actually had to stop and take a moment to collect herself, catching her breath and steadying her pulse before she felt ready to enter the dreaded room. She wondered briefly if she should prepare for the worst, imagining despite herself a picture of her siblings, all in some stage of grief, crying over a dead brother or sister. She had difficulty shaking that thought from her mind.

The scene she was greeted with she finally entered the room, however, was the last thing she’d expect.

Her Father and Mother stood next to each other, facing the door as if expecting her arrival. Father looked stern as always, and once he noticed she was in the room, made sure to comment on how long it took her to get there. Mother looked perfectly concerned, a half smile turning up her lips. They stood behind the examination table, which was draped in a white sheet that hung over the sides. It would be morbid, she thought, if not so familiar.

Most out of place, however, was Number Six, who stared guiltily at her from behind her Father. He met her eyes only for a moment, but couldn’t hold her questioning gaze, focusing on the floor instead.

“What is this?” She asked, taking herself by surprise.

“Sweetheart, would you please take a seat on the table? We just need to check something very quickly.” Her Mother encouraged, gesturing toward the table with a gloved hand.

“Why?” She questioned, unmoved.

“Sit!” Her Father barked, which she had no choice to obey. She slowly made her way to the table, her face a mask of confusion.

“What’s going on?” She tried again, trying to get an answer from any of them, burning with curiosity at that point.

“Now dear, I’m going to need you to remove your blazer and vest, so I can lift your shirt.” Her Mother commanded, to which she awkwardly obeyed. Her Father and brother had the decency to turn away, allowing her to undress with some restored dignity.

“Can you just tell me what’s going on? Six?” She tried a third time, only to be met with a stony silence once more.

“I’m going to lift your shirt, and inspect your back.”

Oh, shit.

She tensed, visibly, and if it weren’t for her Fathers unwavering glare she probably would have objected. She grudgingly turned, so her back faced her audience. Her parents seemed to confer silently for a moment, before Eights shirt was gently lifted up her back, all the way up to her shoulders and held there. She was glad she wore a bra that day, the cold of her bare skin meeting the air making her hairs stand on end. A chill ran down her back at the sound of surprise her Mother made.

“Oh, sweetheart-!”

“Number Eight! I will ask you only once!” Her Father stated, leaving no room for debate. “What are the cause of these markings?”

“Markings?” She echoed, twisting to try and see what he meant. “Do you mean the scratches?” She asked, reaching for her lower back where the three she discovered were. “I figured I did it in my sleep, somehow. Didn’t seem that astonishing to me. Why?”

“You are not aware of the extent of the damage, then?”

“The what?”

“Number Six, go fetch the camera from over there. Quickly now!” He said, prompting Six to do as he said. The device was given to Mother, who skillfully snapped of a photo of the area. Eight felt a little violated, but she knew she had no leg to stand on.

As for the damage, she was totally baffled. She had only felt the first three scratches; the ones she discovered weeks ago after a long training session. She knew they were pretty gnarly at the time, but they had been healing steadily over the last while. She considered for a while that maybe they were healing too slow, or had gotten infected without her realizing, but pushed that aside. She had been feeling perfectly healthy recently. No pain in the area and no symptoms that resembled any sort of skin or blood infection. In fact, she had been feeling better than she had been for a long time. She wondered if that had anything to do with the ‘damage’ they described.

Her Mother handed her the camera, having loaded up the image she took with a few button presses. Eight was prepared for a scratch she may have missed, or maybe some bruises from a fall she forgot about during training. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

Line upon line of red scratched littered her back, a cursed pattern across her skin. Some looked fresh and deep, jagged lines cutting deep. Others looked older, thin stretches of skin beginning to bridge between the sides of the wounds in a way that made her uncomfortable. Others were thin, and short, and took up most of the space between the particularly large scratches that marred her body.

“What the fuck?” She exclaimed, a sentiment they could all agree on, despite her Mothers programming forcing her o tell her to watch her language. “No, what the actual fuck? How did I not notice this? I feel fine, they don’t hurt at all!”

“You mean to say that you had no idea what state you were in?” Her Father asked, and she could sense the weight of his question.

“I knew about these three-,” she pointed at the first three scratches. “-but not the rest, no. Like I said, I haven’t felt any different lately, no pain or anything. How did you even know they were there?”

“Being able to notice or care for oneself makes you even more of an imbecile than I thought! Fortunately, Number Six seems to have some common sense and reported your injuries to me once he spotted them.” Her Father snapped. 

“But sir, I-,” she cast a look at Six, filling it with as much hurt and betrayal as she could. He refused to look anywhere near her.

“Do not speak! In fact you do not get to speak until I give you express permission! I am embarrassed for you, Number Eight, truly embarrassed! I am hardly surprised you of all people would be so careless to not bother mentioning injuries such as these. Especially with the intention of going on missions, knowingly putting your siblings in danger!”

“But-,”

“Do not speak!” He roared, making her and Six flinch. “Of all of your siblings, Number Eight, you are easily one of the most insolent, useless and downright pitiful of the bunch! You can’t even-!”

His eyes bugged out of his head as his words caught in his throat. They looked around wildly, and the three quickly realized that he was unable to move and speak. Eights eyes widened just as wide as his when she realized for herself what she’d done.

She wasn’t even trying, this time. She didn’t pull, or push, or even thinking about acting against him. When she tried to focus on him, to let him go, she couldn’t find anything of hers binding him in place. It was at that moment, that they realized he was struggling to breathe.

“Let him go, Eight!” Her Mother pleaded, the same plea slipping from her brothers lips at the same time.

“It’s not me!” She cried. “It’s not me!” She stood from the table, her shirt falling back into place as she faced her Father, who stared at her. She knew if he could move his face it would be contorted in rage, equally hateful words spewing from his mouth, but he was silent, which made her that much more afraid.

She felt something scratch against her cheek, a wicked curve of something she could not see, nor sense. She was riddled with fear, as she felt it drag across her cheek to her chin. She couldn’t hear the shouts of her family anymore, completely frozen herself. It traced down her neck, stopping at the centre of the hollow of her throat. A warning, she realized, and suddenly both her and her Father were free, gasping for air with wild eyes.

Several silent moments passed, even once both had caught their breath. Her Father straightened where she stood, and she just had time to close her eyes as his hand came racing down, striking her hard across the face. Her head snapped to the side before she could correct it, skipping from stinging to sharp, burning pain where he had struck. 

“It is clear that you are no longer in control of your powers,” he snarled. “You are hereby no longer a part of the Umbrella Academy. You will train alone, with me, everyday until I am certain there will be more more issues. You will eat all your meals on your room. You will not speak to anyone besides me, and only if I give you permission to. You will be escorted to and from your lessons, and will not go on mission with your siblings.”

She couldn’t even argue, or make her case. What she’d done was unforgivable; she deserved worse.

“Your Mother will take you to your room, and you will not leave it until she, Pogo or I come to collect you,” he continued, watching as she got properly dressed. He waited until she was finished before leaning close, so only she could hear him. “And if you ever try something like that again, I will find a more permanent solution.” He threatened, seeing she was visibly cowed before straitening once more.

“Get out of my sight,” he said, prompting her Mother to take her arm and lead her out the door. She had time to cast one last glance at Six, this time full of unbridled rage. He looked ore guilty than he ever had before. She revelled in it.

Her siblings seemed to be hovering, all catching a glimpse of her Mother practically dragging her back to her room, tossing her inside and closing the door sharply behind her. She turned immediately, pressing her ear to the door. She heard a series of clicks, then her Mothers footsteps retreating. She tried to handle, but it didn’t budge at all. She tried harder. Still, no movement at all.

“Shit,” she breathed, realized she was locked in. “What the...” she tried to process what had happened.

Outside, she heard roaring laughter, which prompted her to press an ear to the door once more. It sounded like all her siblings, collectively laughing out their guts just outside her door.

Her heart sped up, and she banged her fist against the door, shouting and pleading for them to let her out. She was drowned out by more laughter, that got louder and louder in her ears. She was practically screaming, begging for them to help her. Still, they laughed, echoing deep within her mind until her ears bled.

Her back burned then, and she could feel the presence once more, digging deep into flesh and muscle and tearing it, jagged lines carved into her skin. She screamed out, arching her back in agony and falling to her knees. 

“Please!” She sobbed, eyes burning and dry. “Please stop!”

The laughter got louder, her back bled freely, and through it all, a voice whispered in her ear, a mantra it chanted over and over.

You can’t escape this. You can’t escape this. You can’t escape this.

You won’t escape this.

~

Eight woke that morning with a killer headache and a burning back. The first made her groan out loud, her eyes slipping shut and arm slinging across her eyes to block the first peaks of sun shining through her window. The second made her freeze, before her eyes flew open and she flung herself from her bed, tugging her shirt up and off to inspect her back. The images from her nightmare were fresh on her eyelids, and she prepared for the worst. 

The three original scratches looked as they did, but the rest of her back was unmarred save for three thin, long scratches that went from the top of her shoulder to the start of her ribs. They weren’t anywhere near as deep as the first ones, but they too were red and open. They looked like they should be bleeding, but despite a crisp shock of pain when she poked at them, they didn’t seem to react at all. She was unsettled after what she saw, and worried her lip as she imagined her back actually full of scratches, down to muscle and bone. 

The pain she felt during the dream was so real; so real that she ran to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. She coughed and gasped, trying to calm her racing heart and unsteady stomach. She rested her arm on the seat, the other pulling her hair back in a feeble attempt to keep it from getting caught in her sick. She managed a few more rounds of throwing up before her stomach emptied entirely, leaving her to cough up that awful clear liquid.

She waited until she was sure she was done, then stood on shaky feet, flushing the toilet and turning to the sink. She washed her hands, then splashed her face with water, dragging wet hands across her neck and arms to cool her burning skin. She basked as the cool air chilled her skin, then set about brushing her teeth. She glanced up to the mirror, wanting to see how much she would have to fix to look presentable. When her eyes met her own reflection, she let out a strangled cry, jumping back as she saw deep black eyes replacing her usual bright ones. 

She rubbed her fists against them as if it clear them, staring back expectantly, only to find her regular, albeit terrified eyes staring back at her. She didn’t have it in her to feel relieved, but rushed through getting ready, brushing her teeth and hair at the same time in an effort to hurry up the process. She made extra sure not to look in the mirror again.

She got dressed, tying her hair back into a ponytail for convenience. Normally she’d use a hairbrush to make it look neat, but she settled on just having it up and out of the way. She felt the slightest of pulls on her back when she slipped her blazer on, but dutifully ignored it. She’d had enough weird for one morning.

At the sound of the bell, she left her room, steadying her hands as she made her way into the dining room in an orderly fashion, standing patiently behind her chair as usual. She allowed herself to study the others, but saw nothing remarkable. Number Six looked tired, staring into space and blinking slowly as if he’d just woken up. The others looked tired too, now that she thought about, but chalked it up to a bad night all around. Bad dreams and nightmares were common for them, not that they ever really sought comfort from each other for them. The one thing this family didn’t talk about was feelings, and for once, she was grateful for it.

Her Fathers arrival signalled the start of the meal, and they all sat at his command. After emptying her stomach that morning, she was surprised that she was as hungry as she was. Usually after nausea, she wouldn’t risk eating in order to keep herself from being sick. This time, she was ravenous, using all her restraint to keep her from eating it all at once, helping herself to a second serving after receiving permission from her Father.

She cast a sneaky glance towards the head of the table, then reached out under the table for the familiar feel of the tether. She pulled, and the group grew still, allowing her to fill up her plate more, quickly scarfing it down as to not raise suspicion. It sure would be hard to explain how her plate was magically full once more. She let the tether slip from her fingers as she finished the last bite, the rest coming back to life once more, as if they weren’t interrupted at all. She hid a knowing smile under the last bite of her eggs.

Her schedule was a pain that day, and she regretted the amount she ate very soon into it. She and Number Three had a sparring session that day right after breakfast. It made sense to her why her sister was eating such a conservative amount of food; she always managed to forget how awful it was to spar on a full stomach. She wondered to herself how long it would take for her to learn, but had no choice but to walk with her sibling into by the training room.

It was a decent space, well suited for the task at hand. Various mats littered the floor, though their use was discouraged. Various training weapons were mounted on stands around the room, should any of them feel particularly inspired to try them out. She was particular towards the short sword, though her Father quickly redirected her towards focusing on hand to hand combat.

“Swordcraft takes many years to master,” he explained. “I have neither the time nor the willingness to teach you. Don’t bring it up again!”

She always wished she’d been able to convince him, eyeing the unique blade hanging unused on the wall for the millionth time in her life. It was a shiny silver, approximately a foot and a half in length. Instead of a standard blade, it was three sided, a sharp triangle shape extruding from the hilt. She was allowed to wield it every now and then, and marvelled at its sturdiness - the hilt could be a weapon itself, solid enough to do real damage to someone if she didn’t run them though instead. Despite its heft, it was comfortable in her hand, not quite balanced perfectly to counter the weight of the handle. She daydreamed about learning to use it while she stretched, enjoying the companionable silence between her and her sister. They stepped behind the changing screens to put on more comfortable clothes, which were just a pared down version of the uniform including a stretchier top, skort instead of a skirt, and left them the option of fighting with ankle socks or barefoot. Eight always chose the later, preferring to be steady than risk slipping due to something as silly as socks.

“Ready?” Number Three asked, straightening from her stretch and bouncing on her toes.

“Are you?” Eight replied, taking a moment to finish her last stretch before mirroring her pose.

“Once I wrap my hands, yeah. Are we using gloves today?”

“Your call,” Eight offered, accepting the elastic gauze roll with a thanks as Three handed one to her.

“Honestly, I’m not really feeling it today. Light sparring, no gloves?@

“Sounds good to me,” Eight paused. “You good?”

“Oh, yeah I’m fine,” she said convincingly. “Tired.”

“Same,” Eight agreed. “Light sparring it is. At least until Dad comes barging in, then I’ll let you deck me a good one.”

“How generous of you!”

“What can I say? I’m just that kind.”

They finished their hands soon after, dragging a few mats closes together as if they planned on using them. 

“So, what do you think? Anything goes, wrestling, blocking..?” Eight asked.

“The usual, I guess. Just don’t get mad when I get a good one in.” Three teased.

“Oh?” Right laughed. “It’s so on!”

They got into their stances; Three crouched into her comfortable stance, a hybrid between the standard Muay Thai stance and some form of street defence pose. She shifted low, her hands up but palms open, and Eight remembered her effective open-handed strike just in time. Three could throw a mean punch, but her palm strikes were ones to fear.

Eight leaned back, out of reach, raising her arm to block her follow up attack. It struck her forearm with a smack. She swung herself, forcing Three to back up and give her more space. They circled each other, focused on their opponent. Eight surged forward, leaning into a punch that Three ducked under, unsuccessfully blocking the jab into her stomach. She grunted, landing a kick to her shin which made her curse.

“Rude!” Three complained as she backed off, rubbing the area woefully. “That was so uncalled for.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eight laughed. “Come here and let me do it again.”

The two went back and forth for a while, landing a few glancing blows, but otherwise allowing each other to dodge more than hit. This was the usual routine, both of them not particularly interested in actually fighting - let alone hurting - each other. They looked good though, choking to focus more on skillful dodges and blocks, in excellent form. At some point Number Four and Number Six has come in to watch, leaning against the wall as the two girls finished their set.

“Very impressive,” Four called as they stepped apart for a water break. “I’m shaking, I’m so terrified of you.”

“You should be!” Eight laughed, waving a finger at him. “You go put on one of these skirts and we can spar. How does that sound?”

“Take it easy on him,” Six laughed. “He knows you have him beat.”

Four gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “You wound me!” He cried dramatically. “Here I was, complementing my dearest sisters, and you come out and attack me out of nowhere!”

“Not nowhere,” Three corrected.

“Allison!” He cried, betrayed. “How could you?”

“It’s easier to accept the truth, Klaus. It’s okay, you can say that they’d beat you.” Six continued, smiling despite his serious tone.

“I’ll have you know that I would never hit a woman!” Four protested. “So I can’t win so neither can they!”

“Well, I sure hope you never encounter a female criminal,” Eight mused. “Though it would be satisfying to watch you come to terms with it.”

The four of them laughed at that, bickering amongst themselves as time went on. The girls had gotten back to sparring, unable to ignore the rather loud encouragement from their brothers, and laughing at the two placing bets during each round. After a particularly hard hit, that sent Eight flat on her ass, Four howled with laughter, while Six went quiet. She accepted Three’s hand, getting to her feet to face the music, but stopped at the expression on Six’s face.

It was just like the one in her dream, the look on his face when he saw the state of her back. He looked horrified, but was doing a great job hiding it in front of the other two. But she caught it. And she panicked.

“Can I talk to you?” She blurted our, catching the others by surprise. 

“Me?” Three asked, giving her a strange look. 

“No, me.” Six answered, nodding towards the other side of the room while looking at Eight, who nodded back.

“It’ll just be a moment, sorry. Keep her warmed up, don’t want her to get cold!” She instructed Four, who looked less than willing.

Her and Six crossed the room, ducking behind one of the changing screens. He immediately whirled on her, using his height to impose. She was worried at first, but now she was stricken, wondering how in the hell she would get out of this one. Not only that, but how she recognized the look on his face so clearly moments before. She grappled briefly with the idea of her dream not being just that, but didn’t have the mental energy to process it. She hoped she’d have time to speak with Five, run it past him and see if her theory was totally crazy, or if it could be plausible. From what little media she’d consumed she knew visions of the future were generally a bad sign. But at this moment, she didn’t have time to worry about what it could be, and instead had to worry about keeping it from coming true.

“What the hell happened to you?” Six asked impatiently, his voice a hushed whisper.

“You mean my back?” She queried, allying dumb.

“Yes, your back!” He said, annoyed. “What are those scratches?”

“Oh, those?” She thought for a moment. “Remember when Dad had Two throw knives at me?” She asked, and he made a face; she wasn’t sure if it was at the memory or what she called her brother. “Well he got me pretty deeply, and I just have to let them heal. I know they look bad, which is why I’ve hidden them.”

“They look awful! They should be bandaged at the very least! Let me look.” He reached for her shirt and she slapped his hand.

“They look worse than they are! And besides, you really think I want to play up and stress over injuries Two gave me? You really want to deal with his moping and his guilt and his constant apologies?” She had a point and he knew it.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He asked, and she let out a silent sigh of relief that he bought it.

“One hundred percent,” she promised, lying through her teeth. “Never better.”

“Okay,” he agreed, visibly relaxing. She felt like the scum of the earth. “You just scared me, those look awful. They really don’t hurt?”

“Not really, I forgot about them until I noticed your reaction,” she told him. “They just look real bad which is annoying.” She tried to joke.

“Yeah, maybe try to keep them more hidden,” he suggested. “If I noticed there’s a good chance Dad will, and I doubt he’d be nice about it.” She winced visibly, and she was glad he thought it was because of the thought, and not the echoing words in her head as she was locked in her room like an animal.

“Good call,” she managed to smile. “We’re good, right?”

“We’re good.”

The two walked back together, ignoring the curious stares their siblings gave them when they returned.

“What was that about?” Three asked, eyeing the two. 

“Just sorting something out.” Six answered with finality, leaving very little room for anyone to argue. Four shrugged and encouraged them to continue, so they did for a while more. Eventually the last few minutes of the time block came creeping up, and they called it a day, choosing to spend the last few minutes changing and cleaning up, shoving the mats haphazardly towards the wall, bundling their clothes and tossing them into the currently empty hamper.

They walked to their next lecture together, talking about nothing until they made it to the door. They fell silent as they came in, taking their seats and settling in for a long lecture. Seven seats were full, but one was empty. Eight wondered where Five was, turning to look at his empty seat. It seemed like her Father didn’t know either, and he let out a huff as they waited for him to appear.

He did, seconds later, in a flash of blue that made a few shoulders jump. He took his seat without a word, hardly listening to their Father chastise him for making them wait. She studied the expression in his face, and frowned, unable to determine what it looked like. She knew what he looked like when he was mad, or frustrated, or even upset. He didn’t look like any of these, and he certainly did not look any form of content, so she was totally baffled. She was forced to look away when her Father called their attention to him, and began playing a new taped lecture while settling in his seat. She scratched down some notes, unable to be bothered to pay that much attention. Her deal with Five was still in effect as far as she was aware, and she hoped that he’d be able to catch her up quickly after explaining what’s got him in the mood he was in.

She was impatient during the lecture, her mind wandering back and forth between Five, their debates, day dreaming about what could be bothering him, as well as the mutilated back from her dream, the laughter burning in her ears and the voice that whispered above it all. Her arm hair stood on end, and she tried to focus on the lecture instead, deciding that bites were much better to think about than ‘what if’s?’ and nightmares.

She startled when the others moved around her, packing up their notes for the day. She jumped up, gathering her things to get in line as per usual. She got through the inspection quickly, accepting the annoyed comment from her Father at the decline of the quality of her notes.

“Hardly acceptable, I expect better tomorrow!” He complained, to which she nodded and left in a blur. Due to the schedules of her siblings, lunch was not a it down meal as it sometimes was. They were allowed to go help themselves to what their mother had prepared during their block of personal study time, which to her relief, started right then. 

She practically skipped to the kitchen, stealing a glass of orange juice from the counter and downing it in a few gulps. She savoured the cool drink, sighing in satisfaction as she instantly felt refreshed. She grabbed a few sandwiches, starting into one as she loaded the others onto her plate.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you, dear!” Her Mother sang behind her, startling so badly she nearly choked on her bite, coughing and wheezing as she tried to clear her airway. Her Mother startled and patted her back, reaching and offering a glass of water, which Eight gladly accepted. She downed half of it before she felt she wasn’t in the process of dying.

“I’m sorry to have startled you! I guess you didn’t hear me, either!”

“Sure didn’t,” Eight wheezed.

“Are you alright? Would you like some more water?” Her smile was blinding. It was irrational, but Eight was unnerved.

“Uh, no,” she started, picking up her plate and backing up. “I’m gonna eat in my room. Thanks for lunch!” She called, practically running out of the room. Her Mother called out after her, but she was too far away too quickly to hear what she said.

She took the stairs two at a time, balancing her plate carefully despite her rush. She stopped at the top of the stairs, and considered for a moment, before she turned and walked the opposite direction of her room. Half of her just wanted to study in peace, but the memory of her dream that night had imprinted itself back on her mind once more. She wanted to get it off her chest, to get someone to hear it and tell her that there was no way she saw into the future, and it was a freaky coincidence instead. She formed her resolve and set out on a warpath.

She stopped before Fives door, knocking a few times and waiting to be let in. She frowned as she got no reply, and knocked again, louder. Still nothing. She wondered if he was even in the room, but couldn’t think of anywhere else he was supposed to be. She tried one more time, banging on the door, when she heard an annoyed sigh, trudging footsteps, and the door clicking open.

“What?” Five hissed, softening once he saw who was there. She was unfazed, used to his attitude by that point.

“Brought food. What’s wrong with you?” She asked bluntly, shoving the plate at his face. 

“Thanks. Bye!” He said, taking the plate and closing the door. He rolled his eyes when it caught on her foot, jamming it open.

“Food to share, idiot,” she grumbled. “Let me in.”

“I’m busy.”

“Then give me my sandwiches back.”

“You gave them to me, so they’re mine now.”

“They’re a conditional gift, let me in and keep them or give them back and I’ll leave.”

He couldn’t argue with that, as much as he wanted to. With an exaggerated sigh, he opened the door, stepping aside to let her in. She smiled victoriously, which dropped once she stepped inside.

Crumpled papers littered the place, all over the any flat surface. His desk looked like the start of a hurricane, papers covering the whole surface, on top and underneath various books at various stages of opening.

“Good god!” She exclaimed. 

“Shut up,” he sassed, closing the door behind her. He hesitated for a moment, before hung over and sweeping a section of his bed free of papers, and offering her a seat. She took it.

“What’s all this, then?”

“Math.”

“Ooh, yikes. Why?”

“Time travel.”

“Time travel-!” She realized, eyes wide. “Oh my god, Five!”

“Relax, will you?” He was now visibly annoyed; she could tell. 

“You can time travel? Why didn’t you tell me?!” She was ecstatic for him.

“Because dear old Dad won’t let me try it!”

Oh. Yeah that put a damper on things.

“No shit,” he complained, and she realized she said her previous statement out loud.

“Did he say why?” She asked.

“Said it was too unpredictable, too dangerous, blah blah blah,” he explained. “As if he’s ever cared about our wellbeing before.”

“What’s dangerous about it? Isn’t it just like, a spatial jump but in a different direction? It can’t be that different, even Dad can’t be an expert on time travel of all things-,”

“What did you say?”

“Uh, what part?”

“The time travel part!”

“That Dad doesn’t know everything?”

“Before that.”

“Uh, that it’s just like a spatial jump?”

“In a different direction!”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. What about it?” But Five she already turned his back on her, frantically scribbling notes down, flipping through a comically large book and comparing it to the notes he had. He laughed after a frantic minute.

“Wanna tell me what that was?”

“If I ever call you stupid again in this life, remind me of this moment! Brilliant!”

“What is?”

“You! I was looking at it from a completely linear perspective! That’s why I couldn’t figure out the equations in a way that made sense. I have to travel in a different direction, so to speak.”

“I helped?”

“I know, I’m surprised too!”

“Don’t ruin it!”

“I can figure it out,” he breathed, sinking into his paper covered chair. 

“You know what you’re doing right?” She checked. “It’s not going to be dangerous now that you’ve figured it out, right?”

“I mean, there will always be some level of danger with this kind of thing, obviously. I know what I’m doing, though”

“Sounds needlessly risky,” she mused. “Is it really that important to you?”

He looked offended. “Of course it is.” He said as if it was obvious. “Would you pass up on something like this?”

“If I wasn’t confident it was safe, probably,” she lied, which he saw right through. She sighed. “Forgive me for trying to talk you out of it. It’s just freaky to think about.”

“What is?”

“You disappearing into the past or the future or something. What would that mean for the timeline? Would you just being out of place change everything?”

“Questions for later,” he dismissed. “I’m no where near ready to actually try it yet, I still have several equations to calculate before I’m ready.” He assured her, wondering the same himself.

“You’re so lucky,” she mused. “Teleportation and time travel?” She scoffed.

“Hey, freezing time is pretty cool,” he tried. “Plus you can freeze people, apparently.” She tensed, and he moved to backtrack. “I mean, not cool!”

“I don’t want to freeze people,” she groaned. “Dad hasn’t brought it up since the one time he saw me do it, which is starting to worry me now. It’s not like he forgot!”

“You think he’s planning something?”

“I’d bet he is. Figuring out an experiment where I torture small animals or babies and such.”

“Sounds about right.”

“You’re it supposed to agree! You’re supposed to comfort and reassure and shit!”

“Oh, uh,” he blanked. “I’m sure it’s fine?”

“Ooh, well done. Really felt that.”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

“No,” she said after a pause. “I just picture all these terrible things he’s gonna make me do and I hate it.”

“What do you think he’ll make you do?”

“Probably set one of you against me, make me freeze you. Hell, maybe he’ll teach me to freeze just your essential organs and cause heart failure or something spicy like that.”

“That could be useful,” he mused, jumping as a crunched piece of paper hit him on the head.

“No! Bad!”

“Whatever you say,” he surrendered. “I’m gonna way this sandwich and work, you’re welcome to stay if you want. Feel free to come up with other horror scenarios you’ll go through so I can totally reassure you.” He turned to his desk, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile. Her mind flashed back to her dream, and she opened her mouth to speak. She hesitated.

He seemed busy, and stressed despite his ability to give her snark. He clearly had a verbal disagreement with their Father about the topic at hand, which was a sure fire way to keep him busy for as long as it took for him to figure it out. Proving it to their Father would be a huge task, one followed by the insurmountable one of figuring out how to safely time travel. The more she thought about it, the more her problems seemed trivial in comparison. 

“Well, if that’s all you wanna talk about, I’ll head back to my room so I can study. Can I have your note for today?” She asked, to which he nodded and pointed towards a binder on his dresser. 

“Take what you need,” he said, his words jumbled around the bites of his sandwich. She did, and bid him a quiet goodbye as she left, closing the door softly behind her. She didn’t think he even noticed she’d left.

She wandered slowly down the hall, past her room, and just walked through the house. She was disappointed, sure, but she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be social. Being a genius was hard work, after all. She thought back to one of their previous conversations with a smile.

“You’re telling me that you genuinely think that fate is a real thing?” He practically spat the word, much to her amusement.

“Of course I do! There is far too much that science and math just can’t explain, and to me, fate is a good substitute.”

“Next you’re going to tell me magic is real,” he laughed.

“Uh, how do you explain 8 children being born to non-pregnant mothers?” That shut him up. “One could draw connection to God and religion, but I’d rather not.”

“Why not? You brought it up. You think we were born due to magic?”

“Not magic, fate! Or something as abstract and unexplainable. There’s no scientific explanation that can prove our existence, that’s a fact.”

“I would say that,” he argued. “Are you implying that you’re religious?”

“Not religious,” she rolled her eyes. “Agnostic at the very most, though.”

He shook his head. “So magic, then?”

“Stop acting like believing in something outside of science is such a terrible thing!” She complained. “I believe that fate exists because there is far too much that can be explained by it.”

“Fate is probabilities that are beyond human calculations. Trillions and trillions of decimal perfect chances that happened to align and create the world were in today.”

“You know, one could argue that everything is fifty-fifty,” she smiled as she saw his face go red. She thought he would explode. “You know, it either happens or it doesn’t; fifty-fifty!”

“You’re using a ‘not even wrong’ argument now? Really?” His voice was cold.

“Thought it would spice things up!” She jeered. “Either it happens or it doesn’t, can’t argue that.”

“You can’t argue that, though. There has to be some degree of falsifiability to argue a point.”

“So I’m right then?”

“No!” He shouted in exasperation. “You’re wrong, but your argument is so stupid that I literally can’t argue with you about why it’s wrong.”

“Sounds like a you problem to me.”

“You think fate is real because things either happen or they don’t.” He said as a statement, not a question. She nodded anyways. “Then you’ve invalidated you’re entire point. The fifty fifty argument is so invalid that you’ve ruined your initial point. Congratulations.” He was being sarcastic now.

“So you believe in luck, then?” She asked, throwing him off.

“Huh?”

“If fate is just an incomprehensible amount of probabilities and statistics, then there has to be an extraordinary element of luck that things ended up as they are.”

“Now you want creation theory? After all this?”

“You called my point stupid. I want you to suffer.”

And suffer he did,struggling with the weight of their debate, as well as her purposeful attempts to rile him up with frustratingly bad stances.

It was a fond memory as she thought back on it, one of their more memorable debates. She normally took a fair and arguable side, but she’d let herself have fun and go out of her way to pester him. She savoured his reactions, and loved watching the gears turn in his head as he processed what she said, coming up with the perfect counter back. She’d never had to call ad hominem after his one slip up, though she very much enjoyed winning that debate through that alone.

“L-, uh, Eight?” Number One asked, bumping into her. She politely ignored him slipping on her name.

“Hi, sorry. Didn’t mean to bump you.” She offered him a smile which he returned.

“What are you up to? You look all think-ey,” he joked.

“You could say that,” she sighed. “Just had a weird dream last night, trying to figure it out.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She paused. She knew it would be best for her to decline his oddly kind offer. She really didn’t want to share it with anyone anymore, and if she was being honest, she wasn’t much for company then. But she saw the genuinely earnest look on his dumb face, and she agreed without thinking that much harder. 

“Okay, we can sit in the parkour!” He led her there, sinking into one of the luxe seats on the couch. They both ignored how it groaned under him. She sat timidly in the seat across from him, back rigid. “What was your dream about?”

“Dad grounded me,” she admitted, after considering what all she wanted to tell. “Got mad and said a lot of mean things, then Mom dragged me to my room and locked me in. All of you saw and laughed once I was trapped.”

“Oh, wow,” he said as she finished her shirt and sweet explanation. “That must have been upsetting. We’d never laugh if that happened, if that helps.” He offered, and she accepted with a small smile.

“I know. Still sucked to live though.”

“I bet,” he agreed sympathetically. “Do you want a hug? We can hug?” She did not want to hug, but he went for one anyways, and she didn’t have it in her to pull away. She awkwardly patted his back as he leaned forward and embraced her for far too long, pulling away with such a genuine smile that she couldn’t help but feel bad for even considering rejecting it. And truth be told, it did make her feel the tiniest bit better.

She asked him about his day, and he went into detail about his training. She was happy to listen, and was even happy to talk about her day when he asked about it. She couldn’t remember the last time she and him had really sat down and talked, but she savoured it as much as she could. She’d honestly forgotten how annoyingly kind her ‘oldest’ brother was, and how good he was at conversations. It seemed out of character; the big strong man being a little softie underneath it all, but she appreciated it silently. She never realized how enjoyable talking could be, even more than listening and debating. She wondered if she’d ever have a conversation like this with Five, but laughed at that. She pictured him getting bored within the first thirty seconds, choosing to ask her opinion on whatever philosophical debate topic he came up with that day over how her day went.

As her and Luther’s conversation eventually drew to an end, she was feeling much happier than when she’d started her day. That happiness carried her through the rest of the day, and through a dreamless sleep that night.

As time went on, naturally that bit of joy was crushed under harsh training and strict schedules. But despite it all, Eight was able to keep her head up. For the first time in a very long time, she was almost hopeful for the future. Five was working away on his equations and she found herself unbothered. They went days without speaking at a time, and neither of them really noticed. Eight went out of her way to get closer to her siblings, seeing out Number Two and spending time with him, much to his initial doubts.

She’d eventually got him into a conversation about what happened that one training day, and he seemed more assured than he did after she accepted his apology and forgave him once more. She could have sworn she’d done so already, but his reaction seemed to suggest she wasn’t convincing enough the first time. 

Time heals all wounds, I guess, she thought to herself cheekily. 

Five, meanwhile, was getting closer and closer to his goal. He was confident, finally, and it took a lot of self restraint not to test his theories before they were perfected. He was eager to show his Father his work, to convince the stubborn old man that for once, he was right about this. That he’d done the work, that he was ready to try it.

A small part of him knew his Father would never budge, which he kept in mind. He was going to learn to time travel one way or another, with or without approval. 

He just had to be ready, and when he was, he knew nothing could possibly go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear reader! I tried posting in the ‘start of chapter’ notes but I wasn’t able to - has anyone else experienced this problem? Anything I type turns into weird symbols?? Ah well, I had little to say anyways. Also, I do intend to edit my work once I finish it, so please mind my mistakes. It’s going onto 5am and I’m too tired to look for them. I hope you understand, dear reader, and that you enjoyed this part. Wishing you well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay, dear reader. I was ready to post this last night, but was prevented from doing so by the 503 error that occurred. You can check AO3 status on Twitter to verify that the site did go down. So here it is now. Sorry for making you wait, I hope this makes up for it some.

After nearly a month, Five was finally ready. At least, that’s what Eight figured, having noticed his sudden change in demeanour. The day before, he was as quiet as ever, disappearing into his room every moment he could spare, emerging looking as frustrated as ever. He took it out on his siblings, his comebacks a little sharper than usual. She was grateful that it wasn’t often directed at her, but she couldn’t stand the arrogant look on his face when he fired back at his unsuspecting sibling. He clearly enjoyed the reaction it got him, much to her disdain.

She’d been keeping tabs on his work as time had went on, gently prodding him now and then to get an update on his progress. He didn’t seem to have it in him to tell her to back off, which she took full advantage of. Most of his answers were the same, always vague and dismissive. He’d mentioned he thought he was getting close the other day, but was just as sour the next, which didn’t inspire confidence. If she wasn’t so annoyed with him, she’d almost feel sympathetic.

To her, it felt like years since they’ve actually spoken. They’ve talked, of course, that’s impossible not to do with lives like theirs. But she was quickly realizing that he had very little patience for what she had to say. He seemed to prefer talking at her, and while she was happy to listen, it was starting to get her down. She had things she wanted to share too, after all.

Her research for her thesis was coming to an end, and her conclusions were even more fascinating than she could have ever hoped. She’d been able to discover so many cool mutations, and her theories were practically proving themselves. She had long moved past the emotional significance of the work, and was fully invested in its results. While it may have started as a way to connect to her birth mother, it was more than that. She wanted nothing more than to publish it as her own, to be recognized and for her work and discoveries to be named after her. She wanted to be known for something other than what her Father made her to be. She wanted to be more than Number Eight of the Umbrella Academy. Even something as small as her name in a journal was enough for her. 

Her Father had even given his approval, and the two had spent a long time working through the challenging part of her work. It was uncomfortable at first, spending this time with him one on one willingly. For most of her life, she’d avoided him as much as she could, content to tolerate his presence only when he had to. She’d learned to associate him with lectures and scolding and punishment and disappointment. Nothing she’d ever done was good enough to him. But suddenly, he was giving her his explicit approval, voicing his praise in a way that didn’t make her think he was proud, but was enough to encourage her all the same.

Her accomplishments were shadowed however, when her theory about Five and his success was proven right.

It was a loud morning that day. It started off with a combination of her panicked rush after sleeping in too late, desperate to be ready on time, as well as an escalating argument between One and Two. She’d grown used to dealing with them fighting, though it did well to cause the ache behind her eyes to sharpen. Flickering insults between the two were the norm, but today she feared it would break out into an all out fistfight. To an outsider, it would be comical, as neither of them spoke above a whisper, using exaggerated gestures to emphasize their anger. She could tell they were genuinely angry with each other this time, which annoyed her more than it normally did. Most of the time she was the one to step in and be the voice of reason. She’d talk them down enough for them to back off at the very least, though she’d never heard them ever offer apologies. They’d both express their grudging gratitude to her for interfering in their own way; a quiet smile from One when things settle, and a look from Two that says all he needs to say.

“You think you’re so smart, huh? Think you know so much just because you’re Number One?” Two whispered harshly. “You’re only Number One because Dad found you first!”

“‘Still the leader!” One taunted, opening his arms wide. “You’re Number Two for a reason, don’t forget that. I’m the leader, you’re not!”

One was being particularly harsh this morning. She almost didn’t recognize it was him saying such mean things. He usually stayed on the defensive, rarely resorting to personal attacks. He didn’t seem to be holding back this time. This was usually when Eight would step in. This time though, she couldn’t find it in her to intervene. Maybe she was just tired, or in a bad mood, but she had no desire to intervene in the slightest. They’d been arguing more often than before, and she couldn’t care less. She wasn’t used to feeling such an overwhelming sense of apathy towards her siblings. She just turned her head and let it happen.

“We all know I’d be the better leader!” Two seethed. “You’re too much of a coward to actually lead. We do all the work and you take credit for it!”

“You rush headfirst into things and only think about yourself! You’d get the rest of us killed and wouldn’t even notice!”

Her other siblings who were also watching the spectacle seemed to notice that she had no intention of stepping in. Seven was watching uncomfortably from the doorway, shifting glances over her shoulder in the direction of Father’s office as if he’d hear them and confront them about it. She kept herself small, not wanting any of their anger to be directed at her. After sending few questioning looks towards Eight, Number Three seemed to think she could talk them down in her place. Of course, this wouldn’t work, as everyone under that roof was painfully aware of how partial she was to Number One. Eight had the advantage of being unbiased, so she could see both sides and solve the problem. Three seemed unable to hide her favouritism, which only added fuel to the fire.

“Ha! You need your girlfriend to fight your battles? What’re you gonna do about it, princess?”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” One snapped, his voice raising in volume.

“I can fight my own battles, thanks!” Three snapped back, taking One by surprise.

Number Four and Number Six wandered in then, taking one look at the scene before them before turning on their heel and walking back out. Eight longed very much to join them. 

Three cast an angry glance towards their retreating backs. She had gotten fully into the fight now, having started out on One’s side, now standing by her own. She argued with both of them, jabbing angry fingers in their faces as she whisper shouted her insults. 

“Both of you are being ridiculous!” She hissed, a cacophony of protests from the other two making Eight wince.

“You’re not even involved in this!” Two growled. “Piss off!”

“Diego!” One scolded.

“Neither of you are fit to lead if you’re going to act like this!” Three bit back. “You both need to grow up!”

“You need to back off!” Two continued. 

“Allison, it’s okay, just let me handle him,” One tried to soothe. He realized his mistake as both of them turned on him, shouting now at full volume.

“Guys, please quiet down!” Seven tried to inject, a chorus of three voices telling her to shut up just as quickly. Her face filled with hurt for only a moment before she composed herself.

Eight began to worry that their Father would hear them, and joined Seven in casting worried glances in the direction of his study. The last thing she wanted was to deal with her Fathers anger this early in the day. He had a habit of carrying it throughout the entirety of the day, and knew he vented it on them during their training. She had individual today, and began to dread it. 

Five appeared in the room with a flash of blue, eyes widening as he took in the scene then. He’d heard the shouting from across the house, and had to know what the excitement was. His mouth quirked up in an amused smile as he sidled next to Eight, who had taken to leaning against one of the many cabinets. She could tell something was different about him immediately. The shadows under his eyes were the darkest she’d seen, but his eyes were bright. His hands no longer trembled, his shoulders seemed to hold a lot less tension than before. He was livelier, more than he’d been in weeks. That’s when it clicked.

“You figured it out?” She turned to him, eyes wide, whispering her question in case it was meant to be a secret. He smiled knowingly, and didn’t respond. That’s all he needed, and she shook her head. “Seriously? One hundred percent?”

He nodded, his eyebrows raising up in surprise as Three had to step between the two boys, to keep them from pouncing on each other.

“They seem to be having fun,” he mused. That cocky smile was still on his face.

“They’re going to kill each other at this rate,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest to mirror his position.

“Can’t say they aren’t entertaining, though.” He laughed. “Ten bucks on Diego kicking Luther’s ass.”

“If they keep it up, Dad’s gonna hear.” That shut him up.

“You’re normally the one to stop them,” he noted. “You gonna get to it, or...?”

“Don’t feel like it today.” She stares simply.

“Huh,” he furrowed his brows. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What?”

“The day you gave up on them entirely.”

“I’m not giving up!” She challenged. “It shouldn’t have to be my job every day time they can’t keep their anger to themselves!”

“If not you, than who?” That smile was back.

“Anyone else!” She exclaimed. “I’m tired of managing everything for everyone! They fight about nothing, and I have to deal with it, then they forget and do it all against the next day. They never learn! They can’t get over their massive egos for one damn day! What will they do if I’m not around, huh? If they can’t figure out how to handle their shit themselves, they’re in for one hell of a shock!”

She realized two things very quickly. First, the room had gotten unbearably quiet. Second, that everyone present had heard her.

She looked over at the three and didn’t like what she saw. One looked genuinely hurt, his eyes betraying him as his face went cold. Two looked just as upset, but did well to mask it in a familiar mask of anger. Three looked angry, suddenly defensive of the two. She sent Eight a cold glare, placing a comforting hand on One’s shoulder.

Eights face flushed, and she knew she was probably bright red. She meant what she said, but she regretted saying it so loud. She didn’t know how Five had riled her up that quickly, but it was too late to take back what she said.

Speaking of, he looked hardly surprised at her outburst. The smile was gone, something she was thankful for. She was displeased to see the look that replaced it; a knowing look, as if she proved him right. About what, she had no idea. If she didn’t think any better of him, he’d seem smug, and the look in his eyes would be one of amusement. The longer she studied him, the more she began doubt her initial assessment. He was smug, the bastard, and he did look amused. She wanted to hit him, just smack the stupid look of his face once and for all.

In true ‘Saved By The Bell’ fashion, the familiar twinkle of the bell that signalled breakfast echoed through the house which quickly put an end to the awkwardness between them. They straightened up, making their way into the dining room silently. She kept her eyes trained on the floor, determined not to meet anyone’s gaze. That bell summoned them just as much as it did their Father, and none of them were confident he hadn’t heard the drama. They were angry at each other, but if their Father knew it, he payed it no mind as breakfast begun.

Eight was bitter, and had little appetite. She picked at her food, ignoring the burning glare Number Three sent her way. Number Six next to her was not that much warmer, focusing on his meal instead of acknowledging her. Maybe she should feel guilty for what she said. Maybe she should have stepped in sooner and deescalated the fight. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. She glanced up, and found Three was still glaring at her. She met her gaze evenly, and held it until Three was unnerved, looking back at her plate in concession. The satisfaction at this small victory did wonders at driving out the guilt gnawing at her.

She wondered briefly why she didn’t feel anything towards her siblings; neither annoyance or empathy. She pondered for a single moment, then shrugged to herself and went back to her meal. She had a long day ahead. She could think about it later.

~

“During our last class, we examined some early aspects of memory.” Father began, once they had settled in their seats. Eight cast a glance up, determined to focus on her notes. She wasn’t up to facing Five and asking for his notes today. 

“Today, we are going to discuss some factors that influence memory. We will do that by beginning with the concept of overlearning. This is when you continue to study something after you can recall it perfectly. So you study some particular topic, whatever that topic is, and when you can recall it perfectly, you continue to study it.” He offered a pointed look at them all before continuing.

“This is a classic way to prepare when one is taking comprehensive finals later in the semester. So you study for an exam, and after you know it all, you continue to study it. That will make your comprehensive final easier, as you are continually reinforcing the memory of the information you need to remember.”

She pondered this, and how it may help her. She was sure there’d be a surprise exam soon; it has been a while since their last one and she was getting antsy expecting it. There’s a good chance Father was lecturing them on this topic today in order to prepare them for one.

“The next factor that will influence memory relates to what we call organization. In general, if you can organize material, you can recall it better. There are lots of different types of organizational strategies, so we will begin by talking about the first organizational strategy called clustering.” Eight twirled her pen between her fingers, a nervous habit. She felt anxious for no reason. It was like she could feel everyone’s eyes on her, even though she could see they were all facing the front. 

“In clustering, you can recall items better if you can recognize that there are two or more types of things in a particular list. Let’s say that I give you the first list; north, cardinal, south, robin, east, wren, west, sparrow. Now if you can recognize that north, south, east and west are points on a compass and cardinal, robin, wren and sparrow are birds, then you have a higher probability of recalling that material than if you just tried to recall the list in order.”

She was interested despite herself, and shifted in her seat as she jotted down what she could remember of his point. This was a concept she’d try to employ, though she doubted herself. She was abysmal when it came to studying effectively. She glanced around the room and noticed the others seemed visibly bored. It seemed the festivities of the morning was bothering them still. She deflated.

“Now there are other organizational strategies that one can use as well. The next one of these are what are called verbal pneumonic techniques. There are many different types of techniques, some more effective than others. One example of these are called ‘acronyms’. ‘Acronyms’ are basically a word formed out of the first letters of a series of words. A common example of an acronym system is ROY G BIV; the first letters of the colors in the visual spectrum. It is arguable that forming your own comes with its own difficulty, but it is a common technique with practical applications. You may read about the other listed techniques on your own time.”

She scanned the page in their textbook that listed the other techniques, and vowed to read them during her study time. She didn’t allow the attitudes of her siblings keep her from looking interested. This was likely one of the most important lectures their Father would give them, and they weren’t paying attention! 

Of course, she knew Five didn’t need to, watching him reclining in his chair lazily out of the corner of her eye. The familiar crawl of envy itched her arms, and she wished she could be as academically astute as he was. She never had a problem keeping up with him in a practical setting, but he had her beat when it came to scholastics. She just didn’t have the mental energy to try, the words blurring before her unfocusing eyes. Her mind wandered, and she considered many things.

She wondered whether Father would allow Five to attempt to time travel. He’d told her it was intrinsically risky, but that his math was sound. To him, it wouldn’t go wrong because he’d prepared so well. To her, it seemed like an extraordinary amount of risk for little pay off.

What would the long term effects be? Oh both him and the timeline? Would just going back in time be enough to do irreparable damage? And that’s assuming he doesn’t interact with anything or anyone. 

Would there be two of him in the future? Or would he replace his self in the time he ended up in? What about the past? Would it be riskier to visit the future and return with knowledge that can change fate, or go back in the past and alter things so the need to travel forwards is obsolete? Are they one in the same, then?

And that didn’t even consider the effects it would have on him. If he travelled far in the future, would he gain the knowledge he would have experienced, or would he only know up to where he left off? If he gained all that knowledge, would he retain it if he travelled back? Could he, perhaps form a system of infinite knowledge? If he travels forward, and learns all he would learn in that time at once, then traveled back and retained it, he could in theory choose to learn totally different topics when he skips forward again. Time travel was too complicated, too unknown. If it weren’t for his overwhelming confidence in himself, she’d be worried for him.

“So that’s the first type of visual imagery technique. The second type is called the pegword technique. The pegword technique relies on a list of integers...”

She realized that she’d been lost in her thoughts for longer than she should have been, and had completely missed a section of his lecture. She shook herself from her stupor and tried to figure out what he was talking about now. 

“So these are the first two techniques that relate to factors that influence memory. What’s the next major factor? If I give you a list of words in a serial learning task or a free recall task, you have better recall for words at the beginning and end of a list but not in the middle of a particular list. That is called the ‘Serial Position Effect’.”

She wrote that down quickly, skipping a few lines on her page for her to fill in with what she missed. She hoped she’d left enough room.

There’s a couple different things you need to note about the serial position effect. First recall at the beginning of the list is what is called the Primacy Effect and recall for the end of the list is called the Recency Effect. The recency effect occurs because you can generally only recall seven plus or minus two items in working or what is also called short term memory. When we start to memorize a list of words, we usually start about 60 to 65% accuracy. In the recency phase, at the last word that we’re trying to recall we have a percent recall rate of about 85 to 90% depending on the study. You only have about a 20% chance of recalling a particular set of items if they are in the middle of a series.”

Eight startled as a piece of folded paper was tossed gently onto her desk. She looked up, questioning Number Seven who passed it to her with her eyes. Seven gestured her head towards Five, who was leaning forward to look at her. He gestured towards her, hinting at her to unfold and read the note he’d passed her. She rolled her eyes but nodded at him, picking up the paper delicately.

She carefully unfolded it, careful not to make a lot of noise. She didn’t want to call attention to herself or the note, which she knew would anger her Father. He’d likely confiscate it, and she would be lying if she wasn’t curious as to what it said. She opened it finally, scanning the words on the page several times before they registered.

Meet me during study tonight?

That’s it? She’d figured it would be a little more important than that. He could have easily asked her anytime during the day. Why bother with a note?

Despite her confusion, she nodded at him, prompting him to smile and lax back into his seat. She folded the paper back up and shoved it into her book, out of sight and out of mind. She realized she’d been distracted again, and missed another section of the lecture. She was almost glad he wanted to see her, since she’d be able to get his notes from him and catch up in exchange. Part of her wanted to demand more for her time, but she knew that his notes were the only thing keeping her on track. She wondered if he thought less of her for needing them. She realized he most definitely did.

The lecture dragged on, but fortunately she didn’t ha he to bear any more interruptions. She was able to fill her page and keep up to the best of her ability. The clock ticked away on the wall, a rhythmic page that kept her grounded. Most of the time, she found it too loud, grating her nerves thin. Today, it was a good sense of structure. She payed it little mind.

“So in summary as we see here in the last few minutes is that there’s a variety of different factors that influence memory. Each of these factors are extremely important and ones that you should remember.” He offered the same pointed look towards them as before, then continued. “In the next section, we’re going to begin to examine some early theories of memory and how those theories work. I expect you to familiarize yourself with both today’s and tomorrow’s topics in preparation for our next lecture. You would do well to take these to heart. Dismissed!”

They all rose, gathering their things with expert haste and lining up once again. She lingered at her seat, taking her time to gather her things. Father started inspections, and the others passed, even though they looked like they did nothing. She was glad she didn’t have to hear him lecture, and could instead ask him a few questions that were stuck in her mind.

The room cleared quickly, and she offered him her notes once it cleared.

“May I ask a few questions?” She asked, tentatively.

“You may,” he allowed, scanning her notes.

“You’re aware that Number Five desires to learn to time travel, right?”

“I am.”

“Is it dangerous? I can’t imagine any changes to the timeline, even just his presence, will go unnoticed.” 

“The effects of time travel on the mind are unknown. And yes, even the smallest action against the natural order can cause massive ripples in turn.”

“Will you let him try it? Or-,” she stopped. “Will you teach him how to?” She corrected.

“I believe that I told him that I would not when we last spoke. I assume he intends to ask again?”

“I can’t speak for him!” She panicked. “But I do, he’s done a lot of calculations and seems confident. I just wanted to know whether I should be worried?” She hated how pathetic she sounded.

“I do not intend to entertain his foolishness. Your concern is admirable, but unnecessary. You’d do well to worry about yourself and catching up on what you’ve missed of today’s lecture.” He said with finality, handing her notes back. She accepted them and thanked him, bidding her farewell before rushing out.

A tiny piece of guilt gnawed at her, and she wondered if she should have kept her concerns to herself. Her mind got free, and she pictured Five, lost in time and overwhelmed by knowledge and power. She pictured warped timelines, ruined lives and changes beyond the scope of her imagination.

The guilt went away in an instant.

~

She knew the sense of dread that had been following her would have a purpose before too much longer. She’d forgotten what it was that caused it, but as she faced her Father down in training once more, it came back to her.

It felt like years since she’d had her outburst, that resulted in her freezing her brother entirely. It had scared her to no end, not only that she had the power to do something so vile, but the feeling that came after it. The rush of power and adrenaline, outweighing her horror for a moment too long. She knew it would be a matter of time before her Father figured out how to force her to learn to use it, and the day had finally come.

Her hands trembled as she met Pogo’s kind eyes. He had been chosen to be her ‘target’, much to her protest.

“I don’t know how to work it yet!” She argued. “I could seriously hurt him! You can’t expect me to take that risk!”

“Even more incentive to get it right!” Her Father snapped back. “Do well and he will not be hurt!”

Her face must have shown her doubt, because even Pogo began to look unsure. He turned and cast a wary glance at her Father, who simply offered him a stern nod in return. Pogo seemed to find a new resolve, as he turned back to Eight with the same kind expression as before. She wondered if it was real.

“Whenever you’re ready, Number Eight. Take a breath and stay calm, you can do this.” He offered, and she basked in the comforting tone of his words.

She put her arms out and aimed them towards him, the feel of the space around them comforting her in its grip. She focused on the space he was in, and pushed, shutting her eyes at the sheer resistance she was met with. She grunted our and hunkered down, forcing it still. 

She could feel it spilling through her fingers like it was liquid, unable to find purchase on anything. She tried pulling, but only succeeded in making him stumble forwards a step. She dripped her arms and shrugged defensively.

“I don’t know how to do it,” she explained. “I just did last time, and let go just as soon as I realized. It wasn’t on purpose.”

“You’re saying you need motivation then? Shall I go fetch one of your siblings?” His voice sounded casual, as if his words weren’t underlined with a specific threat. He knew just how seriously she took using her powers against her family, and that she’d do anything to avoid it.

“I’ll keep trying!” She answered in a rush, unable to mask her fear from him. She sighed in relief as he nodded, the signal for her to keep going.

She did keep going, and was only able to make Pogo stumble twice more. He’d said he’d felt the air around him get thick when she tried, and that his limbs had started to tingle once. It didn’t do much to inspire her, and seemed to frustrate her Father that much more.

“Maybe try moving?” She spoke up before her Father could. “Trying running towards me and I can try to catch you in motion?”

The two agreed to test this theory, and Pogo backed up several steps. She signalled for him to begin, and he stated at a pace she could hardly call a slow jog. Motion was motion, and she ignored everything else to focus on stopping him where he was. 

She closed her eyes and let herself feel. She felt the cool bite of the wind against her face, contrasted by the warmth of the sun. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, ticking her neck. Her legs ached, tired of standing. She’d had a sparring session with Three earlier, who had not gone easy on her. She wasn’t hurt, and Three wasn’t at all aiming to cause actual harm, but punches were pulled less and she ended up on the mat more than usual. She did her best not to be bitter about it.

She tried to feel beyond herself, reaching out to the trees and the grass. She felt them rustle and shift; she could feel they were alive, could feel the life in them. She extended it further and felt the heartbeats of the two who were with her. Her Fathers was steady and rhythmic. Pogo’s was faster, but that came with not being human. She focused on his, feeling the blood that circulated through his body. From there, she sensed his muscles, his bones and limbs. That’s what she concentrated her energy on, and with a moment of hesitation, she willed them to stop.

She exhaled and let go just as quickly, grinning proudly up at a surprised, but unharmed Pogo, who was stopped in his tracks a moment before. She laughed in disbelief, allowing herself to celebrate. She’d did it, and she didn’t hurt anyone!

“Are you okay?” She asked him, wanting to make sure he was unaffected beyond the initial moment.

“I feel fine,” he assured her. “It was jarring, but not painful.”

“And brief,” her Father spoke up, disapprovingly. “You stopped him for only a moment. That would be hardly effective against a real adversary.”

“Yes, but this is the first time I’ve done it intentionally. I don’t want to risk him harm by overdoing it.”

“He was unaffected entirely. That is all the assurance you need. Do it again, and hold it longer. This is both an offensive and defensive skill. An important one at that.”

Her lip curled, but she dutifully returned to her mark, focusing with a newfound energy. Before, it was fear that was motivating her. Now it was anger.

Pogo backed up and repeated his jog towards her, visibly bracing for her to stop him. She repeated the process, letting her eyes shut and arms stretch out. Something rugged at the back of her mind, and itched her arms as she tried to focus. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and she was getting more angry with each passing second. 

She felt Pogo in the space once more, but was unable to focus entirely on him. She reached towards her Father instead. Her heart pounded in her ears. She felt his pulse, rising ever so slightly. She felt the blood in his veins, the tension of his muscles and strength of his bones. She could feel the neutrons firing in his brain, an overwhelming display of knowledge before her. She felt it all. It fit within the palm of her hand. She tightened her grip, gritting her teeth as her face flushed red.

She couldn’t remember being this angry. She couldn’t remember being angry before this moment. In fact, she couldn’t recall much at all. She was so busy using all her effort to stop Pogo in his tracks, while simultaneously basking in a decade old anger that has festered over the years. She saw her Father, and felt his heart in her grip. She could stop it, she knew she could. All she had to do was close her fist, and it would stop in his chest. He’d be dead before he hit the ground. It was too easy, too tempting. Every time she tried to let go, a picture of her siblings appeared in front of her eyes. 

Klaus’ haunted eyes as he finally returned from the Mausoleum. Allison’s cries after being forced to rumour one of the others. Diego’s stutter returning ever so slightly after a particularly harsh lecture from Dad. Luther’s blank stare after being reminded of his failures. Fives bruised face after one too many instances of insolence. Vanya’s sorrowful compositions as she watched them live lives she wanted so desperately. Burning hands and a burning back after being forced to use her powers against her will.

It was too easy to kill him. She wanted it so badly. He deserved it, more than anyone else. With him gone, they’d be free, no one left to torture them.

She felt it then.

A presence, sidled up against her back. Soft fingers through her hair, along her bare arms. Her hair stood on end. A chill of pure, unfiltered fear travelling down her spine. Her heart skipped a beat, rejecting the foreign calm that was attempting to bloom from her chest. She resisted it, ignored its call and whispered words. She opened her eyes, letting go of them both, gasping for air as her lungs emptied. She hadn’t even realized she wasn’t breathing 

The two looked unbothered, Pogo was stopped and her Father seemed unaware of anything amiss. He voiced his satisfaction, and dismissed her for the day. She clutched at her abdomen as she left the courtyard, three deep scratches blooming deep across the surface.

Terror wasn’t a strong enough word. It was far beyond that, a primal instinct of wrong that she couldn’t shake. Her eyes were frozen wide, and she was terribly cold. It was a warm spring day, but she felt as if she was standing in the winter cold for hours. Even when she was inside the warm house, she stayed cold. All the heat was sucked from her body. Her whole body trembled. 

She wanted to know what it was, and why it hurt her. She wanted to know why it was there, and why it wanted it to hurt others. She wanted to know how it had such an effect on her, and how much of her anger came from it, and how much was her own.

She was unsuccessful in disappearing into her room unnoticed. She ran directly into Number Seven around a corner, who took one look at her before gently dragging her into her room to talk. The walk was silent, which Eight was grateful for. She wasn’t excited for the conversation to come, though.

She sat down heavily on Seven’s bed, letting a bit of tension drain from her shoulders when she closed the door behind her.

“You’re freezing,” Seven mumbled, pulling the throw blanket off the end of her bed and wrapping it around Eight’s shoulders. Eight bundled it into her arms, burrowing into the soft fabric with a noise of appreciation. “What happened?” Seven asked warily. “You look awful.”

“Training,” Eight offered simply, face turning stony. “New training.”

“Ah,” Seven said, as if she understood. Eight wondered if she did. “Do you want to talk about it? You look worse than you normally do after...” she trailed off.

“Gee, thanks.” Eight said dryly, letting Seven scramble to backtrack for a moment before speaking again. “It’s fine, I know what you mean. It was particularly bad today, and I don’t think I can talk about it yet.” 

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You could say that,” Eight chuckled humourlessly. “Dad was having me practice freezing people. Made me do it on Pogo.” She hoped that was enough to explain away the state she was in.

“Oh man,” Seven mused. “That must’ve been taxing. Are your hurt?”

“I’m okay,” She lied. “Shaken up is all.”

“Then why are you holding your stomach so tightly?”

Well damn.

“Promise not to freak out?” Eight asked, genuinely unsure if she could trust her.

“I won’t say a word.”

Eight decided to take a risk, too tired to argue or continue to keep up the pretence. She was sore, and her stomach hurt, and she was very likely traumatized in some annoying way. It’s not like Seven would go running and telling the others. She’d let her in this once.

With a sigh, Eight slowly lifted her shirt, wincing herself at the sight of three nasty scratches along the skin. They were as deep as the first three along her back, but hurt a hell of a lot more. It must have been because she was awake when she got them. That didn’t comfort her much.

True to her word, Seven remained impassive, taking in the sight with only the slightest of widening eyes. Eight let her shirt fall back into place, shifting in place uncomfortably.

“Pretty gnarly, huh?” She tried to joke. It fell flat.

“What did that?” Seven asked steadily.

“Beats me,” she answered; a half truth. “Got a few more on my back, but those happened in my sleep. These happened just now, which kinda freaked me out.”

“Do they hurt? Do you want me to get the first aid kit?”

“Nah, it’s okay. They don’t really bleed and they heal on their own. They’re just ugly to look at.”

“Does dad know?”

“No,” Eight paused. “And I’d like to keep it that way, please.”

“You don’t think he can help?”

“I feel like I’ve had this conversation before,” she mused. “Until I figure it out, I’m not gonna tell him. For all I know it’s self inflicted.”

“You really think-?”

“No, but it’s a plausible theory that I can wrap my head around. The alternatives are far too much right now.”

“I get that.”

The silence hung between them heavily.

“Do you hate him?” Eight asked after a moment.

“Who? Dad?” Seven asked, taken aback.

“Yeah.”

“No!” She exclaimed. “Do you?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“What does that mean?”

“I got angry-,” she stopped. “I get angry a lot. So much more than before. It’s like something snapped a while ago and now it’s almost unmanageable. It comes and goes and it’s very inconvenient.”

“You don’t exactly have it easy,” Seven rationed. “I get why you’d be angry. Dad’s not exactly the best parent in the world. I’d understand why you’d hate him.”

“I don’t!” She protested weakly. “I dont want to, at least.”

“Recognizing your anger is a good step. Now you need to find ways to manage it.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you have time?”

“You do?” Eight was taken aback. “I was mostly kidding.”

“I know what anger feels like,” Seven said softly. “More than any of you would know. I’ve had to handle it since I was young. I can give plenty of advice.”

Eight took in her words, and frowned at the implications. She knew it must be tough not having a power in this family’s but she never considered that Seven was angry about it. Now that Eight thought about it, the more she began to realize. The portrait in the main room did well to exclude her. Father was never particularly kind to her either. As for the rest of them, she could count on one hand the number of times they all spent time together. As she thought back, she couldn’t remember the last time she came with them as they snuck out to the donut shop down the way. What little reprieve the other seven could get from the stress of their lives was kept from Seven. She always thought that she just didn’t want to come, not that she wasn’t invited. She wondered if the others were aware of it. 

“I’m sorry,” Eight said out loud, catching them both by surprise. “Here I thought you had it easy, but I can’t imagine what you go through.”

“It’s okay,” she quickly assured. “I’ve made my peace with it long ago. I just look towards the future now.”

“Can you teach me your ways?” Eight asked, letting humour colour her tone once more. She wanted to lighten the mood, and it worked as she mirrored Seven’s kind smile. She needed this, and wondered why she didn’t think of it sooner. The pit in her chest lightened, and she felt warm once more.

~

Eight stood before Five’s door, already dreading the conversation to come. She’d had a long conversation with Seven, and felt better than she had expected to be. She’d been comforted enough that she felt able to go about her day, promising Seven that they’d talk soon, as well as that she’d go to her if she needed someone to vent to. Eight had no intention of taking her up on that promise, but didn’t dismiss it entirely. Who knows what the future has in store for her?

She’d gotten back to her room undisturbed, and changed out of her grimy uniform into an identical but clean one. She was glad that her personal training was at the end of the day, and was followed immediately by her study time. She knew her Father had planned it this way on purpose, and she could appreciate his wisdom. None of them would be up for much of anything after their training sessions, especially when they went as poorly as hers did today.

She splashed some cold water on her face and fixed her hair in the mirror before she felt ready to face the music. She took her time reaching his door. She was unusually nervous, which was a huge inconvenience. It took her several minutes to work up the courage to knock, but she did, and waited for his answer.

The door flew open, and she was met with Five’s eager face, inviting her inside in a rush. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her as he took his seat at his desk.

“Well?” She promoted, and spared her a glance.

“I figured it out. I know I did. I’ve checked all the math five times, and it’s sound.”

“So?”

“So, everything should work, one hundred percent.”

“And?”

“And?”

“If all you wanted to do was tell me you did it, you didn’t need to arrange a secret meeting. You did it, good job. Have fun convincing dad.” She said unenthusiastically.

“What’s with you?” He asked unkindly.

“Long day.”

“Sucks to be you. Can you handle a smart conversation or would you rather go rest?”

She wanted to hit him. His tone was just condescending enough that if she did leave, she’d only prove his point that much more. She couldn’t let him think that poorly of her, so she instead took a seat on the bed, biting back a sigh. She wanted to be impassive as much as possible. Despite that, though, she knew the offer was genuine. If she was simply too tired, he wouldn’t try to keep her from leaving. He’d likely express his annoyance later, of course, but wouldn’t interfere in the moment. It was tempting, but she was stronger than she was earlier in the day.

“Why am I here, Five?”

“Everything is perfect,” he stated, though uncertain. “Everything is perfect, but I don’t feel confident. The math is sound, it’s fully possible and I know I can do it.”

“But you’re doubting yourself.”

“Yes. I don’t know why.”

“Well, it’s time travel,” she said, as if he was an idiot. He noticed her tone and frowned. “You said it yourself, there would be risk no matter how perfect your math is. You’ve got to be precise, or you pay the price. I can see why you’d be at least a little apprehensive.”

“Obviously,” he grumbled.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to get from me here,” she told him. “Nothing I can do or say with mitigate the very real risks that come with doing something like this. If you feel ready, go to Dad and try to convince him to help you. If not, wait until you do.”

“What if I never do?”

“Then maybe it’s not worth the risk,” she ignored his scoff of disapproval. “I’m just saying, sometimes the risk isn’t worth the reward.”

“You don’t think I should do it,” he said as a statement rather than a question. Her silence was her answer. “I can’t believe it, and here I thought you were supportive!”

“I will be if I have to be,” she explained, speaking over his sardonic laugh. “It’s hard for me to be excited for you to risk your life, forgive me.” She was getting frustrated herself.

“It’s worth the risk! Think of how many lives I can save. I can live a future and change it if something goes wrong. None of us could ever get hurt on a mission if I figure this out!”

“So you’re saying the risk will go away one you know what you’re doing?” 

“No, but-,”

“So you don’t really know how helpful you’ll be,” she cut him off. “We go on mission, you see us die, and fail to rewind fast enough, or long enough, or even rewind at all. You get the math wrong and end up halfway across the planet, or at the bottom of the ocean, or in fucking space for all I know, and we’re dead all the same.”

“Or, I see you all die, rewind far enough back that I can warn you of what not to do, and we live another day!” He countered.

“You’re not God, Five. You know that right?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I don’t think I am!” She argued. “You want to change the future so badly? What about the timeline? What’s meant to happen will happen! Who are you to change it?”

“I’m the only person in the world who can! How could I not?”

“That attitude is exactly what’s keeping you from being ready. You need to humble yourself before you even think about doing something this stupid. If you get caught up in the possibilities, we’ll lose you for good.”

“I’m sorry you don’t like my attitude,” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize that was my biggest concern at the moment.”

“For once in your life stop being an asshole and listen to me,” she snapped. “All I’m asking is that you wait until you and Dad feel you’re ready. Don’t let your pride lead you somewhere you’ll regret.”

“And you? When I succeed, will you finally admit I’m right?”

“Where did that come from?” She asked, taken aback.

“I figured out the literal equation to time travel. Once I learn how to do it, I’ll have proven you wrong, and you’ll have to concede.”

“So time travelling is what will determine whether you really are better than the rest of us?” She laughed incredulously. “Of all the arguments we’ve had, Five, this has to be the stupidest point you’ve ever came up with.”

“Well if I get it right, I have tangible proof. If I’m wrong, I face the consequences and you are proven right. Seems like a fair way to settle it to me.”

“You want me to settle it with your life on the line.”

“Again, I’m right, so that won’t be an issue.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she said with a shake of her head. “I hope for your sake that you’re right then. I resent that you’ve made this a zero sum game, but you seem to have made up your mind.”

“Zero sum? You win or you lose, how is that zero-sum?”

“If you really have to ask that, then you’re stupider than I gave you credit for.”

“Ad hominem.” He teased. She didn’t bite.

“Is that all you wanted?” She asked tiredly.

“Yeah, I suppose. Don’t take it personally when I win, though. I don’t mean it to be.”

“You still have to convince Dad,” she reminded him, knocking him down a peg. “I’m glad I won’t have to worry for a long while at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really think you can convince him to allow this?”

“Why not?”

“You’re telling me that he’s going to consider the potential irreparable damage to the timeline, natural order and the world a worthwhile sacrifice? Just for you to learn a petty skill?”

“A petty skill?!”

“It’s hardly if import, Five. You can literally teleport, that’s a hell of a lot of power itself.”

“I have my limits.”

“As you will with time traveling. Have you calculated the physical toll it will take? How much energy will you need? How often will you be able to do it? How far forward or backwards will you be able to go? What about your mental state? What effects will it have on that-?”

“Yes, yes worry this worry that,” he dismissed. “I’ve obviously accounted for that. None of my calculations are off putting enough to warrant any concern for those aspects.”

“I admire your confidence.”

“You should, it’s quite useful. You should try it sometime.” She gave him a look, and he backed off a bit.

They shared a tense silence for a while, neither one of them wanting to spark the conversation back up again. He was getting annoyed by her constant pessimism, and she was bothered by his lackadaisical attitude.

“You really don’t have to worry,” he started, his voice softer than it was. “I know what I’m doing. I just need someone else’s support.”

“Do you want me to lie, or will you convince me to be supportive?”

“I know a losing argument when I see one,” he teased, and she smiled. “A contrary point of view is always helpful, but maybe avoid the doom and gloom if possible? I’d rather be fully and falsely confident than unsure. I’m fairly sure I need to be confident to be successful, and you do a good job of inspiring that in me.”

“That was kind,” she said, her eyebrows raising. “I didn’t know I had such an effect on you.” 

“What can I say? You’re all I’ve got.”

“No pressure there,” she said dryly.

“Sucks to be smart, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know, apparently.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t think you’re stupid?”

“Not being stupid is not the same as being smart. Do you think I’m smart, or not stupid?” She let him think, only slightly dismayed that he didn’t have a quick answer.

“I would call you smart, so long as I can call myself brilliant.”

“Wow, That must have been tough to concede,” she deadpanned. “Would genius do? Or shall I refer to you as a mastermind?”

“That’s hardly necessary,-“

“Oh no, it is! I’d hate to insult your brilliance!”

“Alright!” He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “What happened to not taking it personally?”

“You called me not-stupid. I’m a bitter person.”

“Well I knew that,” he smiled.

“Not helping your case, here.”

“My bad,” he conceded.

“Show me your work? I’d love to pretend I understand it.”

He laughed loudly at that, waving her over and laying out a few of the several pages of equations across his desk. She absorbed very little of his explanation, studying the numbers and symbols she recognized and puzzling over the ones she didn’t. He made mention of various researchers and theorists, and explained how he went from the most respected scientific journals to conspiracy theory pages he found on the internet. All his equations were his own, he revealed, and she voiced her appreciation of the effort it must have taken.

She was tired and hungry, and suggested they sneak out that night. He was quick to agree, and suggested they split up to invite the others.

She’d spoke to Four and Six, who were both on board with little convincing. Five had gotten the other three, stating her disagreement with them earlier may make them less inclined to agree if she was the one asking. She had no argument to that. Almost like an afterthought, she went by Seven’s room, apologizing for interrupting.

After assuring that she was okay, and it wasn’t a crisis, she extended the invitation to her. Seven practically lit up, and Eights heart clenched with guilt at how she’d never been invited before. She resolved to never let that happen again.

The others were surprised to see Seven was joining them, but made no mention of it. Getting out was easy as always, and they’d made it to the main road silently. They walked in silence, paranoia doing its job to keep them from being loud, lest they get caught out. Once they reached Griddy’s, though, it was like a switch was flipped, and they were as loud and boisterous as teenagers should be. One was smart enough to bring money, and ordered enough donuts for them to eat until they were sick. They all crammed into one large booth, shoulders pressed against each other in their attempt to fit. It would be uncomfortable if they weren’t so glad to have any form of physical contact. They weren’t often allowed to be in such close proximity as they were, and they all secretly revelled in it, despite their playful banter that Luther took up too much space and that Klaus was purposely trying to nudge Ben off the edge of the seat.

It was a perfect end to a terrible day; her aches and pains were long forgotten, long drowned out by the sheer joy she felt after a long time without it. She laughed, she teased, she was having fun. She could forget about the pressure they all felt. She chose worrying over which donut to eat next over the fear of the unknown. She forgot about the carvings in her skin, content to live in the moment just this once.

Number Eight, through all her life, would never realize that this was the last time she and her family would get together in it’s entirety. She didn’t know that this moment, this small moment of peace, would be the last she’d have in a long while. 

The universe was a cruel and merciless thing, and it was losing its patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to cite my sources - I found the lecture online so I didn’t have to come up with one entirely on my own. Citation below.
> 
> Meier, S., Dr. (2019). Experimental literature of the nature and conditions of classical and operant conditioning, verbal learning, and cognition. Retrieved August 17, 2020, from https://www.webpages.uidaho.edu/psyc390/lessons/lesson05/transcript_5-3.htm

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’m hoping for this to be a multi-part story. I’m always looking for feedback, so feel free to let me know what you think! This is my first fic in this fandom, so I hope it meets par.  
> Cheers!


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